Chapter 3
There was a beautiful silence in the glittering, dangerous snow. A temple stood on the mountainside, casting a shadow from the sun before a haze of overcast smothered it once more. Powdered death and life and everything in between wafted with the chilling wind, creating an atmosphere of primal survival that quickly choked away whatever dared to reside there.
The creatures that did end up staying stalked the frigid Icelands, searching for opportunities to claw themselves out another day of life. For one, It was a question of whether the beast was either dead or alive. Of how that grudge manifested was uncertain, and yet it was still compelled to hunt. Invisible chains clanged to the ground all around it, a doomed existence from an unholy being that had been cast away and deemed unacceptable.
And so it wandered. It hungrily smelled the air with a nose trained to bring back what was lost. Lacking a true direction, it aimlessly traveled the wastes devoid of a true purpose. A shadow of a beast sunk into the ice caves, gaze harsh and piercing, before it disappeared from the tundra entirely. As it did today and every day, in an endless cycle of purgatory.
Something happened one day to break such a burden. A tug pulled on a connection long buried. It suffocated in the aftermath of such light, and the call was rejected in haste as the creature ran against its nature.
It left behind itself a shifting, endless void that rocked the very sky. It shattered the atmosphere itself, bursting into life and screaming with powers from beyond. It reached, and took from what exists to fuel the endless hunger. Beings scattered to avoid the hand of God, and found themselves useless against the tide of creation.
There was no remorse from nature.
It had the right to what existed, after all.
Shadows struck into the aether, struggling against the endless tide of the inevitable. They held with them a precious being, the promise of protection, and a dying prayer. It was inevitable that they too were claimed, and banished once more as the gift is ripped from them.
In a way, it was a repayment for a deed past and present, something from the future displaced in time. Screams of the forsaken fell on deaf ears, their desperation pleading and praying for salvation.
Material dripped from the void, a consciousness given and taken in equal measure, and the disorientation scrambled what was left. Thousands of arms cradled him deceptively, before letting go.
Something that was humanity and beyond fell. He screamed, his arms windmilling around uselessly in the air before he abruptly crashed into the snow below.
The world was a frigid white, a stark contrast to the black coat that clung to a young man. Air refused to enter his lungs, knocked out by the force of his fall. He watched the void disappear with spots in his vision and a lack of true awareness, and he could only lay helplessly underneath the fallout of it all.
The void was hard to forget. It spoke, it yelled, it stretched, it claimed. It was everything, and it was nothing at all.
He would never be able to recall it for the rest of his life, not truly. Not from the depths of unanswered searching late at night as he grasped for answers. His frozen body shivered, bewildered and silenced from such an experience. He stared at the landscape with wide eyes, overwhelmed as the force of it all started to take hold.
There was something else as well, deep in his core, that screamed and cried. It called for help, and the adolescent in the snow felt something grasp his wrist. He barely had time to recover from the shock before it all melded into a cacophony of confusion, and he could not stay awake any longer.
The bond continued to berate and punish the beast, driving it to where it did not want to be. A claw curled along the ice, carving marks into the snow, and a figure puffed up with rage and spite. Grudges spat insults in haunting song, weaving curses from that which was left behind.
It wandered around the frayed covenant, testing. Perhaps it would be nothing. Perhaps… it was everything. It returned to the tundra, and managed to find something that it was not looking for.
It saw the black coat first. The thing was a tattered mess of destroyed fabric, blowing around a body which was already half buried in the snowdrifts. The atmosphere brewed with the promise of temperatures that could kill even those used to the climate, and there was the most fragile of beings to such a challenge.
Fangs curled into a sneer at the thought, and a beastly head filled with teeth inspected the new arrival. A tongue licked the air, savoring the taste of despair bleeding from the human’s psyche.
The monster’s claw was big enough to tilt the little one’s head with one movement, inspecting what was surely alive. Nothing else could create that blissful, wonderful smell. The fear of death is always pungent. An eye stared at it, terrified, and he flinched at the sight of the creature.
The human felt fear. The creature could not help but laugh as it fed. And yet, even after such a meal, it still hungered.
The beast looked to the ground, and picked up a limb. The human clearly tried to move, and yet he could barely manage a slight twitch of the fingers and the faint all encompassing shiver. The monster’s claw dug into his arm, but only slightly. It was a start, to relish the pain.
But the beast paused soon after beginning. Something had sedated his blood, from the taste. It would not do to consume such a thing.
Not yet.
The body did not do anything as it was dragged behind the monster, bumping into rocks and stones before eventually being thrown down a cave. Ghosts knew to avoid a baneful death, even in the afterlife, and disappeared quickly at the mere sight of them.
The beast strolled along. It was fun to play, and after so many humans had gathered there was currently a risk in picking off the weakest of what remained.
There were no more battles on the ice, no more souls to take in the fallout, no more bodies to hide in the blood of the rest. There was only the straggler, who was now crying at the bottom of the cave.
The monster’s claw traced around his cheek, ending on the nose, and the creature took delight in how he whimpered in distress. The human at some point grabbed for his arm, despite the lack of movement otherwise. The creature watched him writhe and savored the taste.
“Sneasler?” A woman called from afar, stretching and feeling the satisfying creak and eventual pop of her back. The crunch of her boots hit the ground in a steady rhythm as she approached her Noble, and she easily dropped from the cliffside by stepping in areas that she knew by heart. The creature she called turned, pointing, and the woman quickly caught up to her to check it out.
But nothing was there but the Icelands in the distance and the fluttering of a few distant birds.
“Is there something going on over there?” She asked, tone bold like the long, winding ponytail going down the side of her head. It was a shock of purple, leading down to the wooden band that laid on her wrist. The Warden’s band was sign of her covenant, proud and bold. To many, it was a sign of duty. To her, it felt more like a prison of glass, and the freedom to exit it.
Not everyone wanted to be a Leader. Sometimes you just had to go out in the woods for a while. Or 20 years. Either, really. The beast dwarfed her, standing several feet longer than a human bearing giant claws, and the woman didn’t mind in the slightest. This was simply another day with her friend.
It was another day, and yet Sneasler growled, hackles raised, and pointed once more with more energy. Ajisai paused as she felt it, this time. Deep inside her heart, a bond was pulled. She blinked in surprise, and gained a fair bit of resolve regarding it.
“If we’re being called, we don’t have much of a choice.” Ajisai muttered, worried. Her friend nodded, and went to climb the side of the cliff.
Sneasler returned after only a few moments, quickly scaling the rocky mountainside with her lanky yet sturdy limbs. The monster purred once she’d arrived with a large wicker basket on her back, and Ajisai wasted no time in climbing aboard and starting the journey.
The mountain air retreated and was replaced with a different, colder chill as they approached the Icelands. It filled her lungs as she watched from the basket, eyeing the foothills and the Highlands behind them.
There were no flutes of warning.
It was a blessing to not hear of bad news, and yet as they camped for the night in the foothills, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going terribly wrong.
Her emotions were validated the next day, as sunrise kissed the skies and the winds carried with them the whispers of danger. There was a great outcry all of a sudden in the distance, and displaced creatures of all kinds started to run together from some greater threat. Predators did not bother to hunt, and prey did not bother to run away from them in particular. They all simply fled under the threat, big and small. Only she and Sneasler remained in the chaos to witness it.
Ajisai could only describe what she saw as an “it”. Perhaps it was holiness, or something that directly opposed it, but it shook the world as it opened. There was a golden explosion of light, blinding and overpowering, that obscured anything she could have seen. With a roar, Sneasler held her close to protect her. It was all either could do to hide behind a pile of snow and wait for it to be over.
When it was, the silence was overpowering. The shaking limbs of both human and beast unhooked from each other as they scanned the area, and the sky returned back to the way it was instantly. The earth felt unnaturally clean in the moment, as if the entirety of the atmosphere had been swept by a great broom.
Nothing living remained on the ice, not even the usual monsters that patrolled in their quests for survival. Not even the great Mamoswine remained in its usual territory, and the other swine seemingly disappeared with it. Not even winged beasts were stalking the skies or the slopes.
“Muscle idiot should be here sometime.” Ajisai commented to herself, trying to sort out her thoughts. Sneasler nodded along, and the two continuing as they’d planned to do. But then there was the calling, once more. The both of them stopped and blinked in confusion as it led away from the Clan and towards the wilderness.
Their duties were in conflict once more. It was almost funny to Ajisai. Duty was something she despised, and yet they both found themselves turning away from what was familiar to follow the call.
Sneasler stopped in front of one of the ice caves, a natural structure made up of a series of networking tunnels that were carved into glaciers long before people inhabited these lands. Many people avoided them, and for good reason. To enter in a group was certain death, a task only reserved for the most bold and experienced of the Pearl Clan. To enter alone was suicidal. It was a story told by the oldest to the youngest, explained with stories of baneful foxes and dried bones.
Ajisai took one last look at her home in the distance. It was underneath the falls, nestled far away from the most dangerous of the tundra and the places where the most powerful monsters gathered. The temple stood above everything, a reminder of what was left behind long ago.
A warning left to her that would be unheeded, as she felt yet another tug on her chest. Duty.
Her hand hovered over her flute. She put it away in her supplies, and nodded to her friend instead of playing it. The Warden here would do anything within the Icelands at any sign of danger, and there had been no flutes from him.
For some reason, Ajisai felt no fear as she entered the basket on Sneasler’s back and held onto the strong shoulders of the climber. Together, they vaulted down into the depths far underneath the surface. The light of the morning faded the longer they descended, replaced with faint glittering of the ice pillars woven into the landscape. Cracks echoed from miles away, the ever changing shifting of the earth apparent as the glacier continued its march. Both Warden and Noble were careful to proceed.
“Something is wrong. These tunnels are empty.” She whispered to Sneasler, who nodded in understanding. There were usually specters that haunted, living ice that froze, and foxes that created illusions beyond imagination. Nothing like that was present, not even in caverns far underneath the surface.
To Ajisai’s knowledge, no one had recorded anything like this before, not even in times of great famine where people ventured down and lived here. It only compelled her to walk further.
After a while there was a spark, somewhere deep within in the cavern. It rocked through the air with a small series of pops, and could have been mistaken for a monster if any electric ones were present. Perhaps one was. A growl echoed through the ice, low and predatory, followed by a small, broken whimper. The noise caused Sneasler’s hackles to rise and Ajisai’s heart to pound.
It sounded human.
They didn’t have time to think before another few cries started, before being cut off by a shriek. It could have been from a Baneful Fox, using a lure to trap those foolish enough to traverse the tunnels. But it also could have been a person crying for help after such an unprecedented event.
There was blood on one of the pillars, further in. A smear from a hand that looked distinctly human was imprinted on the floor, as well. The sight made the decision for the both of them, regardless of the danger. Ajisai was not about to leave one of her own behind. Not again. Not anymore.
What they both saw was a monster at the end of the tunnel, surrounded by a billowing mane of specters that were fueled by grudges. It was the largest she’d ever seen, and seemed to be brimming with power from whatever took place here.
A Baneful Fox, more powerful than she’d ever seen or heard of, caused her spine to shiver as it looked right at her with a sneer. Surely, it must have been an omen to see one outright, crouched over prey and feasting without regard for the distractions they were known for.
She only hoped that it had foregone the powers of illusion because it was occupied, and not because it was so strong that it did not feel the need to do so even in front of one of the Clan’s protectors.
It hunched over, growling, and pulled at something that she had to struggle to see. There was a small figure laying against the wall, letting out a choked whine of terror and pain as they struggled. They sounded young, and the occasional smear of caked blood on the wall told her all she needed to know about the situation any further.
Luckily, her partner was by her side. Sneasler was the first to act, pouncing with a roar as she slashed with her claws. The fox turned with its fangs bared, splattering crimson from dripping teeth. They clashed, claws holding against claws, growling and snarling as a clear winner couldn’t break away from the struggle.
Ajisai took the opportunity. She acted as well, darting across the battlefield and sliding on the smooth surface of the ice. Her body slammed up next to the wall from the slippery nature of the cavern, but she wasn’t a Warden for nothing. She used it to quickly stop and survey from another angle, allowing herself to redirect her body weight to slide again and again.
What Ajisai saw behind the fox made her heart sink. A young man sat half propped up on the wall, staring at her after a moment with pained eyes that clearly couldn’t quite track what was going on. His breath was labored as he clutched his side, silently pleading with a desperate wheeze. It was so much worse than she’d thought at a distant glance.
He was probably in his mid teens, give or take a couple years. Any of the children from her Clan there would have been catastrophic to see, and even a stranger in that condition knocked her off guard completely.
A roar from the baneful monster and a hissing shriek from her Noble brought Ajisai back to action. She took a risk, and went right behind the foot of the Baneful Fox in an attempt to avoid detection while they fought.
She shouldn’t have been so optimistic.
The fox startled and lurched to the side as its eyes started to glow with an unearthly red rage. Sneasler was blown back in a flurry of movement, knocked off balance by a roar of power and a series of quick swipes. Everything became chaos in a matter of seconds, and Ajisai bent over the hurt person in a last ditch effort to protect him.
The fight did not happen like Ajisai thought it would. It all stopped, with the overwhelming sound of fuzzing static and popping silence. Her own harsh, ragged breathing and the rush of blood was so incredibly loud in her ears it overpowered everything else, and all she could do was stare downward as everything happened around her.
The stranger weakly clutched her arm, his expression terrified. But more than that, he was clearly concerned and worried. A trickle dripped downward from her midsection, and Ajisai found herself barely aware that it was coming from her. Everything froze for moments that felt like a thick, heavy syrup.
But it all started back up again with renewed clarity, just as fast as it had left.
The choking shock of it all slammed into her before the physical effects could take their toll, and she slumped over to smack against the wall like a fallen tree. She was only faintly aware of the startle coming from the other person next to her, the boy still struggling to move. He reached for her, pulling her from the icy sides of the cave to rest more comfortably despite his own injuries.
Oh, she was hit. She was hit, and she was injured. She might have even been dying.
Ajisai could have almost laughed at how she’d ignored the stories of battle and combat. The Clan had many tales of harrowing survival in the wilderness, and people who’d never returned home. She hoped she could avoid such things, but here she was anyway.
Logically, she knew that this was could have happened. She knew it was common for people to enter a time that slows and a space that did not move when they were hit by an overwhelming adversary.
But this chill that gripped her was so very cold and incredibly draining. Her arms did not follow the call to fight, and her legs did not follow the call to flee. It was all Ajisai could do to lie there and freeze as the sensation of various senses drained from her.
But life always continued to move.
The blessed were tied to duty that wrote over all other functions. A covenant was called, a purpose given new life and overriding nature with itself. Her shaking, unresponsive limbs gained strength, allowing her to stand despite the odds as she rose to the order. Sneasler roared from the other side of the cavern, a Noble standing with her Warden to the very end, and clashed with the Fox before it could react.
That’s when it struck.
A cacophony of light and sound burst from the atmosphere, refracting through the ice as it traveled into the caves. It caused an explosion to rock the entire structure, blinding the Baneful Fox as it stepped away from the fight. Grudges and malice started to recoil as the creature let out a snarl of warning, but it was far too late for it to run.
There was a frenzy of movement all of a sudden, and a being that was no longer human started to go on the offensive. Living word sprouted savage claws from human hands, and fur erupted from all around the body of the Warden before she sprang into action. The creation moved unhindered by the morality of mortality, gaining speed and strength as she was directed to move.
The creature made of grudges and illusions made a hasty retreat when it was confronted, the light proving too strong for it to maintain a presence any longer. The creation did not chase, unaware of the glow coming from the chains that directed and bound her every movement. She was only aware of orders from words spoken and living, and agreements called to be utilized from beyond.
But the Noble and the Warden were not the only ones there to witness divine intervention. The young man shook as he watched with side eyes the multitude of arms releasing a broken puppet. The light faded, the duty fulfilled as the Warden was dropped from the heavens. It was only then that the Noble was allowed to stumble before running to her friend.
The one sitting there watching the both of them could not help himself from beholding an opening torn in the world itself from the activation of a covenant. His eyes burned with sulfur, and terror clutched him deep within his chest at the sight of the most holy. Tired and drained, the young man stared at it with confusion and terror until it disappeared. He did not register that he was crying, and when he blinked, he did not know who or what he was any longer.
The discarded contract wobbled in place before falling. A leg that could no longer support the weight it leaned on crumpled, and the woman that used to be human looked to her friend with a soft frown of resignation. A binding contract had been fulfilled.
She looked behind her, then, and knew what would have to be done.
A hand bloodied beyond recognition rose with the last of her energy, and Ajisai watched as the mark faded underneath the item previously bound to her. It clattered to the ground, the Warden’s band covered in the proof of faith.
Sneasler trembled. The Noble has never seen such an ordeal with her own eyes, and she was now made painfully aware that she could not finish the deed yet. In this amount of time, there was no way to approach the Clan for any sort of transfer. There was no way to continue other than to start the cycle once more and allow it to use another pair of mortals.
She would prefer this, other than the human that sat in the corner of the ice. He was the only possible vessel remaining. It would be chosen regardless of anyone’s opinion on the matter, unfortunately.
The breath that came from the human was frantic as he watched the both of them, his eyes barely open and yet charged with the power of shimmering crimson. He smelled of being claimed already, and belonged to something that remained unseen. It roared from deep within him, scrambling against the constraints of an inactive host.
Sneasler stepped forth, and saw the contract be forced regardless. Creation did not like to waste an opportunity to lock two in one. It was a rarity to be utilized, and the order echoed throughout the icy caverns in a powerful decree.
The young man’s eyes rolled in his skull, and he gave an ear piercing screech before it was silenced by a thousand smiting hands. The beast within was given no choice in the matter, unable to resist what lorded over it.
Resistance was useless against all that is, was, and shall be. No matter how powerful the creation.
It glared at the Noble and warned against the point of contact, but the action proved useless as Sneasler’s claws took a small wrist carefully within them. The eyes of the sacred beast glowed with holy light, and she was surrounded by a sea of living word. Letters danced as they tied together the necessary components from nature’s song.
Creation renewed forged a deal out of what was dictated from above, and the covenant sealed itself through tradition that the adolescent surely did not have. The band was slipped around his wrist while the thing inside him roared, thrashing and writhing. His speech was woven in begging, pleading gasps that could only be heard by the almighty, and they were ignored.
Forgiveness was not granted to that which is not useful, and the soul was sealed deep within.
Only the terrified child remained, and the new vessel gasped as he beheld the previous vessel’s consumption. The Warden was ripped apart in the cycle and just as quickly forgotten by what gained power from it all. The thousand arms hummed with hymns and righteous fury, before they left a suffocating silence behind them.
Sneasler coughed as she awakened to the prickling feeling of overpowering authority. The sensation made her hackles raise with alarm, along with the sickening leftovers of combat that ached in her joints and bones. Nothing remained of the last pact except the replacement, and he wobbled from his place on the ice before falling to his side.
“....Em?” The noise that the young man made was reminiscent of a kit crying for aid. His voice was faint and filled with fear, and it dragged her away from her thoughts as the present took priority. The hold on her soul had been fulfilled, and the covenant had been remade. And so it would remain until the obligation was fulfilled.
Sneasler stared at the young man, and hoped that he will die a death of old age. Although, if she did not do something quickly, he would perish here and now. Blood still coated the walls around the body of the newest vessel, and Sneasler knew that she no longer had moments to wonder and mourn.
There would only be so much time to act, and so the sacred beast walked quickly up to her new companion. He quietly shuddered to himself, before flinching back with confusion as he saw movement. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his body clearly stuck in some state of shock, so Sneasler bent down well before entering his space. The move to tread lightly towards a dying monster was something that many creatures knew as lessons from the wilds of Hisui, and she was no exception.
The haunting shade of death was fresh and palpable. It would surely be too much for many to take in, not to mention someone his age. He went still as she approached, fearful. Sneasler shook her head, and took a claw back in order to show a retreat with her most effective way of attacking.
Surely, he wouldn’t trust a large, imposing monster after such an ordeal.
Sneasler prepared herself for the worst in that moment, flattening her ears and preparing to retreat fully, but the young man did not move or scream at her. He sat quietly in what must be agonizing pain, and put a hand in front of him after a moment. The simple movement gained definition the longer he did it, and after only a few seconds he was reaching for her.
The Noble picked him up quickly noting just how comfortable he appeared to be, and almost paused in surprise. Humans and monsters were always at odds or bonded to Clans, and here was someone that was neither. The stranger sure was turning out to be strange. She shook her head and hurried back to her basket, pushing the thoughts away just as quickly as they’d come.
Her friend’s remains haunted the ground around the both of them, covering the caverns in marred spots and gashes deep in the ice. It was a horrible sight, and while Sneasler was no stranger to the wild struggles of life in the mountains, she was a stranger to the eerie, nasty scent of putrid sulfur and blood that lined the area after the battle. Her basket sat discarded in the filthy stains of combat, forgotten in the rush of activity that had been the fight.
“Em?” The boy in her arms flinched in terror at the sight of the place, gripping her coat with his frostbitten, weak fingers. He called out into the space, his voice warbling as it echoed, and Sneasler held him tighter as she bent down to collect the basket.
The liner sat in shreds, and it would have to be fixed regardless of the amount of bloodshed that would inevitably come from the human clinging to her. Surely, he would continue to bleed from his wounds as he’d already had, but a second glance at her coat and his left her wondering. The both of them seemed to be drying, or crusting over with the intense frost of the Icelands. If he was truly as injured as he was when she’d first seen him, they would have both been drenched.
Perhaps, Sinnoh had given him another chance.
“Em…?” Again, his ragged voice echoed through the cavern, and the young man clung to her as he warily watched her open the basket. The small, dark space prompted a small amount of fight in him despite the circumstances, and Sneasler had to sigh as she juggled the weakly thrashing body.
It was a shame, really, that she’d have to do this at all. Sneasler huffed at how just much it all sucked, before she was able somewhat kick her trusty basket into a usable state. It leaned to the side but stood regardless. Some of the internal supports were absolutely spent and broken.
It was going to be a bumpy ride, wasn’t it.
“Em…?” Again, his voice called, and the stranger kicked and tried to push away as he neared the dark interior of the basket. His efforts were hindered by his clear exhaustion, and he whimpered as he was lowered despite his best efforts. Sneasler gave him a helpful claw, but it only served to make him gasp in fright at the sight of it.
“Em…….” The voice trailed off, miserable, as she set the lid on top and hoisted the basket on her shoulders. The world was quiet for a few moments, and she decided to take a mental note of the maze’s position before departing. The Noble beast hummed as she neared the evidence of battle, and she sniffed for fresh air to guide her before striking marks into the thick walls of the caverns.
This would be a place to remember. A place that she would likely follow on a pilgrimage when everything was said and done, to pay respects to her friend. A place where the Pearl Clan would probably join her, as well, despite the risks.
Solemn, quick steps followed a trail of handprints and blood, and the exit was paved by the trap set forth by the almighty. All followed what creation had set into motion, as Sneasler climbed the entrance of the caves to see the light of day once more.
There’s something peculiar happening today. That’s what first comes to Gaeric’s mind as he loads up his supplies for his morning hike through the Icelands. He exits his tent far before the others of his Clan, staring out at the terrifying beauty of his home, and feels it etched into the wind and snow.
There may be something peculiar today, but Gaeric shakes it off like he always does. If there will be something peculiar, then he will just work harder to overcome whatever awaits him. The man’s sturdy legs hit the snow in proud, steady steps as he traverses snowdrift and tundra, walking into the woods with ease. Careful eyes spot the casual wandering of creatures beyond his direct line of sight, rumbling the earth and shaking plants as they move at dawn. A scorpionfly’s tail shifts in the bushes, and he makes his way quickly to his destination without a second thought.
He may be strong, but hidden dangers are nothing to encounter unprepared.
There is a slope that leads upwards, a glacier that scrapes the heavens with how enormous it is. Avalugg’s Legacy towers over the tundra, and the first thing that Gaeric does when he approaches it is smile boldly at such a thing.
A hand finds the side of the ice with a hasty yet careful touch. Sweat drips before he’s even halfway up, legs straining to reach the next carefully carved foothold. The sun sits obscured by the absolute size of the structure, and he feels the calming shiver of his bare skin as roaring muscles are soothed by the numbing sensation of the ice. Gaeric glares in anticipation, and he wills himself to continue with a grin.
He continues as swines roar and fight, and he continues as specters of frost travel on the winds. He continues to climb with that same grin while birds soar overhead. He continues, until the footholds run out altogether. An old ice pick sits glittering on his backside, strapped to his coat that sits absurdly unused in such a climate. The man takes it with glee, and starts to chisel singlehandedly as the other hand clings to grip the structure.
It’s hard work, but Gaeric loves it. He wants to rise to meet the challenge.
The tool is used until it glitters with caked on frost, and the last resounding tap is made as he beholds shivering, spent muscles that struggle to manage such a feat. It’s also good to know when to quit while you’re ahead, and Gaeric makes the judgment call knowing full well that his progress was well earned.
He scales the cliffside, and soon meets the shadow that greets him when he stands on solid ground once more.
“Thank you for the battle!” He yells, taking a skin of water in his hands that is eagerly chugged afterwards in an effort to regain strength. His noise is only heard by a few Piloswine that don’t even react to such a thing any longer. They’re used to the daily disruption, a reminder of his progress.
The slowly rising sun greets the exhausted, energetic man as he makes his way to the rest of his duties. The swine that graze the tundra continue as if nothing happened at all.
He misses when they shriek and squeal their last, only a short while later.
No, Gaeric has a higher calling than his own exertion and progress. He grips the band covering the mark with reverence before entering the second climb of his day. This one is a footpath leading up a much gentler slope, but danger still remains prevalent.
A large creature with red eyes stands at the crossroads. It huffs with the breath of barely concealed rage, and stomps angrily when he enters the vicinity.
“You again.” Gaeric mutters quietly, but the grin on his face speaks to a different emotion. He tosses his pack aside, and bears witness to Machop’s growl of challenge.
“You wanna fight?” He asks, and he feels the pulse of adrenaline start to hammer inside his chest with excitement. The movement of fingers is all that welcomes the charge from the creature, the beast screaming in a battle roar as it launches a fist at him.
Gaeric only laughs as he grabs that fist head on with his own hand, the limbs locking in a trembling contest of strength. Machop grins and screams as it just barely overpowers him, pushing the man back several paces with a toss. It keeps up the pace, giving him no room to recover before the next punch.
He isn’t done yet, however. Gaeric waits with crossed arms, blocking the next flurry of blows expertly and angling his feet in practiced movements. With a grunt, he goes into the eye of the storm, and finds an opening in the creature’s attack with precision. Gaeric’s arms loop around the torso of the giant Machop, and in one fluid movement the man picks up the thing and suplexes it. The cry that emerges from the thrashing beast fills the air, and he knows that he’s won when he grabs its legs and tosses it with a roar of his own.
The tumbling Machop falls down the footpath, and the man pants in victory before staggering ever further up the mountain. It all goes by in flashes of stuttering frames. There is the entrance to the arena, the large banners marking territory that not even the wilds dare to tread.
Whether it’s from threat or reverence, Gaeric does not pretend to know. But he does know that his friend, his chosen, his bond awaits waking from its slumber at the top. Avalugg growls in welcome, and he stumbles a few times before finally dropping the bag.
“H-Hey, buddy.” The voice coming from the boisterous man is shorter now. He blinks rapidly, and makes it over to the icy creature before too long. Shaking legs finally find rest as they practically flop to the cold, hard ground, and he sits up against his Noble with all of the trust in the world. Hands long turned numb from the workout pet an icy exterior, taking shelter in the aura of a beast given to humanity for protection, and he rests his head on rocky limbs that could crush him in mere moments.
“I had a good climb to-today.” The stutter is unwelcome, thank you very much. Gaeric pretends not to see the Noble looking curiously from above at it, tilting its head in his direction at the sound. He doesn’t say anything further, shaking the spots from his vision. They don’t quite go away as fast as he’d like.
He might have overdone it this morning.
The rumbling grumble from Avalugg sure says so. He supposes that it could tell. Gaeric shakes his head at the accusation even though he knows it’s true. He just needs to be stronger.
He was the one left to protect all of them, after all. They didn’t let him go with the rest.
Avalugg moves slowly, mindful of the man whose head droops to the side with his exhaustion. It pulls with a gentle mouth at the jacket tied around his middle, and drapes the soft, warm fabric along his bare chest. The creature curls around him as much as it is able, and listens to the snoring.
Gaeric misses the pull at his chest, the calling. The noble beside him whines with the sensation of refusal. It’s a burn quickly quenched by snow and frozen in time, but Gaeric still twitches at the call.
And yet, Avalugg refuses to disturb his slumber.
What finally gets the monster to move at all is an opening above its domain. It’s a creeping, terrifying spiral that carves out of the atmosphere itself with a screech beyond. It’s an act of God, of Creation, unprecedented and wild. And yet, there is control. It feeds on what it desires, and deposits something unknowable from such a far location that nothing from the arena could possibly tell.
The man stirs, but does not awaken. Avalugg’s massive paw moves gingerly to deposit him on the ground before it slowly, painstakingly rises from the place it has laid for years. Creaking limbs of wood dare to tread for the first time in ages, a feat not managed by the most yelling and screaming of more than seven Wardens.
Number eight stirs, groaning, and beholds the movement of the force of nature in front of him. It’s as if the mountain itself decided to arise and travel, the beast known to his clan shaking away earth, ice, and debris all at once in an effort not seen in generations. It finds its way to the edge of the cliffside and beholds the frozen kingdom ruled by a proxy, eyes searching the air.
“Avalugg?” Gaeric’s voice is quiet, when he approaches with reverence. “What is happening?”
He, of course, receives no answer besides the quiet gaze that stares over the horizon. There are no flutes. There is no alarm. There are no warnings. Something seems peculiar to Gaeric, and he knows that it is unusual enough to be relevant. A shadow approaches from the north, and he turns quickly, gasping as the tension breaks into action.
“Sir! you’re going to have to move a little quicker!” Oh, it’s just her. A massive eagle touches down to sit on Avalugg’s mantle in a sweeping motion, wings fluttering with great power. The noble below seems to enjoy it, closing its eyes in contentment.
There is a rustling inside Braviary’s down for a moment, before a head pops out. Her expression is stern, and yet it remains a feature of her notable youth. The tiny girl hops out of the bird’s warmth, losing a few feathers on the way.
“Sabi!” Gaeric calls, waving to someone from the Diamond Clan. He wouldn’t, but things are different, now. He’s not going to be particularly mean to a kid, especially not one of her circumstances. Their circumstances. She waves back, trying to climb down Avalugg herself before he makes his way to quickly catch her once the grip is lost.
“You!! Gaeric!” She squeaks, seemingly happy and yet squirming in his hold until he lets her down. The girl hops to her tiptoes, teetering in an effort to make herself look taller than she really is, before continuing with a huff. “There is big trouble down there with your people! You should go see them soon!”
“Hmm. Is this one of your pranks again?” He asks, but the sinking suspicion doesn’t go away when she becomes all the more stern, hands at her hips and puffing her cheeks out at the accusation.
“I know all! I am one hundred percent sure that something is wrong! Clairvoyance!” Well, she is right about her sixth sense. Gaeric has seen it enough times to tell, and he nods before patting the top of her head despite the hat resting there. The little shriek he gets in response is enough to almost give her a noogie. Almost.
He picks himself up and goes to stare at the cliffside once more, nodding. No activity.
“Mind if I hitch a ride?” The question is said in jest, but the seriousness bleeds through his expression. Luckily, Sabi seems to pick up on it with a quiet nod, walking over to suddenly startle as if remembering something.
“I don’t have the lift,” She admits, a little fear showing through. “I can go back and-”
“No need. I can hang on.” Gaeric is quick to shut it down, a smirk on his face at the idea of such a challenge. The talons of the great bird glisten in the morning light, sharp and primed for battle at any moment. He nods at them, pointing slightly with his arms still crossed.
“Woooow, Gaeric!” Genuine amazement, as Sabi’s eyes glitter. It’s worth the bumpy ride, as Braviary readies its huge wings in a takeoff formation. Seconds later, they’re in the air, gliding high above everything that is the Icelands.
The world is so small to Gaeric from where the bird glides towards his home. Everything glitters, but it is not as innocent as it seems.
No, from this vantage point, something is clearly off. There should be more movement, more creatures hunting, grazing, and crawling. The pack of Mamoswine and their young is completely absent from Avalugg’s Legacy, something he has never seen in all his years. Muscles once again strain against their limits, and he almost falls as they make a hasty landing.
“Soooorry!!” Sabi’s squeak of an apology may have a hint of amusement in it, but that’s just how she is. Gaeric spares a little glance of disapproval, but it doesn’t have any heat to it. She giggles at the reaction before hiding back in her Noble’s fluffy feathers.
“Thanks for the ride!” He’d talk more, but he doesn’t have the time. They also probably shouldn’t be talking in the first place, being at war and all that. She’s annoying, she’s a troublemaker, and she’s far too proud. But she’s a kid, and she has something in common.
He can’t take out their problems on the kids, not when the Diamonds have someone so young in the role. Not when they have Lian.
“Gaeric?” Ah, just the person he wanted to see. A flash of bright red on the edge of his vision, and the man is face to… a little lower… there. Now he’s face to face with someone who’s only somewhat older than Sabi. She’s kind as she approaches, but not weak because of it.
“Irida.” He greets the youngest leader the Pearl Clan has ever had since the beginning. She nods at being acknowledged, but confusion still stands dormant on her face.
“Is there anything wrong?” She asks him with the tilt of her head and a puzzled squint of the eyes. “You of all people wouldn’t be around Sabi without good reason.”
“Avalugg has moved to gaze at the tundra.” The words are all he has to say, before a hushed gasp rings out from the Clan slowly gathering to behold the conversation.
“We must venerate the sacred beast, for it has moved to protect us.” One of the elders says, exiting his tent with urgency. “Avalugg has been dormant even through wars where we have lost so much without it. Why would it emerge now?”
“I have no idea.” Gaeric’s answer is genuine, and he receives a glare studying his face before the old man seems to ignore whatever he was about to say in favor of continuing.
“We have heard a commotion far to the south.” Another elder, Platea, steps forth with eyes that no longer see. Everyone makes way for her, and she proceeds. “There is something afoot. Gaeric, it is your duty to protect our Clan.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He knows, all too well. Gaeric’s bow is formal, and he exhales out all of his frustrations with a smile. “I will go now. Irida, you’ll be fine with the Clan?”
“Yes, but we were wondering if you needed assistance-” She almost stammers, a rock too small to base an entire foundation on top of.
“I have been entrusted with responsibility, dear Leader. I can do it.” Gaeric covers the speech with one of his own. In a way, he does mean it. He can do it. Whatever it is, Gaeric will handle it with pride. In another way, it’s a surge of protective energy that he can’t quite put his finger on. Something’s up, and he feels a pull at his wrist. It continues, more and more, and Gaeric knows.
This is something to do alone.
There’s something peculiar happening today. That’s what first comes to Gaeric’s mind as he goes out in the late morning for a hike through the Icelands. He meets the gaze of several that offer to help and are rejected in favor of continuing to walk with a smile.
He’s not trying to be mean, after all. He’s just trying to do his job. His job that is eating at his heart and soul with the pull of the almighty. He stares out at the terrifying beauty of his home, and feels it etched into the wind and snow all around him.
There may be something peculiar today, but Gaeric shakes it off like he always does. If there will be something peculiar, then he will just work harder to overcome whatever awaits him. The man’s sturdy legs hit the snow in proud, steady steps as he traverses snowdrift and tundra, and he pauses as nothing disturbs the environment. Careful eyes glance at the bushes, and there is no movement hidden within them.
He quickly makes his way further, past the empty tomb of Avalugg’s Legacy, and even further. He arrives where the ice caves start to dot the landscape in strange ways, and where specters like to rest within them. Gaeric takes caution, because danger is ever present.
When he steps into the edge of the tundra, something moves at the edge of the world. It’s a claw gripping the side of the ice. With it, Gaeric feels his blood truly run cold in a way he’s never felt before. It’s large, larger than anything he’s seen out here in all his years. It’s strong and sturdy, a crunching, crushing force that threatens the integrity of the ice as it hooks over the lip of the structure with ease.
And then his fears dissolve in mere moments with the appearance of another sacred beast. The Noble Sneasler emerges from one of the ice caves with a tired grunt, looking around as if searching.
Something is peculiar to Gaeric. The Noble is trembling, on edge, nervous. Blood sluggishly trails from parts of her coat, and even from here he can smell death. It doesn’t make any sense. Sneasler shouldn’t be scaling an ice cave’s entrance alone. She shouldn’t be here, she should be in the highlands, with-
“Where’s Aji?” He asks, almost in disbelief. “Why are you here alone?”
The answer he gets is somehow worse than anything he could have imagined.
Sneasler carefully lets down the ruined remains of her basket, that item which Ajisai painstakingly weaved for her companion. She folds off the lid with claws maintained by her friend, the hooks clean and free of knots and errant growth. She leans over, and points, and Gaeric cannot believe his eyes.
There is a body in there. He’s young, but definitely not as young as Sabi. Silver hair is a shock against the black liner of the basket, and he’s clearly hurt by the way he holds himself while labored breaths escape bluing lips from the frigid cold. Eyes unseeing gaze upwards at the light, and an arm reaches for aid, trembling with fear and exhaustion.
The arm has a band on it, carved by the ancients and secured by a covenant. A band covers a mark that he knows all too well, the golden, shining light embedded on his wrist for eternity. It is an arm that Gaeric has to do a double take at just to fully see, and his disbelief only grows the longer he beholds it.
“Em…” The boy murmurs in an accent that he can’t place. It’s a whisper in the frigid cold, and Gaeric is quick to pick him up despite the circumstances. The boy clings to him, a pleading whine coming from what most certainly is a response to an ordeal. Alone, and in unfamiliar clothes. They’re a strange texture, and those stitches, although simple… that has to be something from somewhere else. Not even the Diamond Wardens accustomed to embroidery can pull that off.
Despite that, they’re destroyed beyond all reason, covered in scratches, tears, and a disturbing amount of blood. The boy whimpers as he looks out at the snow expectantly, and Gaeric freezes with the realization.
Something happened down in the ice. Something that scared the guy badly. Something that involved this stranger and Ajisai’s covenant.
The covenant that is now clearly ended, and her with it.
The thought slams into Gaeric’s mind, a soupy mess that he can’t comprehend. A hand grips his arm tightly, and the boy shivers against bare skin in a confused and yet thankful manner.
He doesn’t stop frowning, and Gaeric can’t really blame him.
“I am Gaeric of the Pearl Clan. Who are you?” He asks, his voice low and quiet as if dealing with a small animal. The way the boy looks up at him brings to mind a specific brand of pathetic that only comes when trying to give a Growlithe a bath.
“Xxxxxx.xxxx.xx.xx.xxxxx.” The words mumbled in response are jittery and hoarse, and the boy’s eyes blink with hazy incomprehension. That’s an answer, all right. Still, the man doesn’t have time to process it all. He nods to Sneasler, and they both move quickly to get him back in the basket.
That seems to be the wrong answer. He kicks, squirms and screams in a voice that is so overpoweringly loud that Gaeric thinks he might go deaf. He flinches, and yet he does not drop the young man.
“Sinnoh! I need you to calm down!” Gaeric yells back, and sees the flinch, followed by the immediate hesitation. Fear.
Oh.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that to you.” Gaeric tries once more, this time quieter. Calmer. He sets the boy down and realizes just how tall he is when standing. That’s a big boy. His assessment might have been wrong, initially, but he’s just so lanky and skinny. How does a person even survive like that? Not a damn muscle in sight.
“Xxx,xxx.xxx.x.x.” The response is plagued by what appears to be a dizzy spell, and the poor guy falls into the basket anyway, swaying. Well, what’s done is done. Eyes shimmering red hiding and silver turn to look before he slumps over in entirety inside. A head shakes a clear no as Gaeric approaches, and he does his best to look reassuring before fastening the lid back on top.
“It’ll be only a little longer.” He says, hoping that it’ll be the case. The Warden then moves to the little rectangular opening that seems more like an oval when broken like that, and winces at the blatant terror on the stranger’s face. It’s not too expressive, but that… he doesn’t ever want to make anyone feel like that.
With a sigh, Gaeric huffs and goes to lift the basket himself. Sneasler rises the moment he does, and limps over with a gait that speaks of pain.
“Girl, you are not carrying this. I’ve got him.” Gaeric says with a shake of the head and a quick yet gentle hoist to get it on his back. He can hear the whimper underneath, and fights the urge to flinch himself. What a situation.
The Warden starts to walk back home, and feels nothing but dread as he hears the soft sound of crying behind him. A voice sometimes drifts in incomprehensible mumbles, and yet he knows that it is definitely suffering. The voice eventually falls silent, and he only has the sound of crunching footsteps to accompany him.
Irida stares out at the horizon with bated breath as absolutely nothing happens. It’s maddening. Her hands find her elbows for a moment, tapping impatiently before they fidget all over the place.
“I need to go out there. Gaeric is alone.” She whispers, and the old woman behind her nods sagely. No one dares question the second eldest. No one dares question the youngest leader either, not when she storms out of the settlement with fire in her eyes and a tongue primed to lash out at anyone who dares confront her.
Determined, she starts to clear the first hill, then enters the tundra ready for… Nothing.
Nothing is there, save the wind and some distant birds flying elsewhere high above. There’s only silence and snow, ice and what would feel like death if anything was there to mark it. The entire place simply is empty, as she starts to carefully tread through places once highly populated with little more than a few glances to make sure nothing was hiding.
Nothing, until the appearance of several figures far, far away. The telltale blues and purples smeared in the frosty haze are all she needs to know, and Irida breaks into a run, waving at the sight of her friend and mentor.
“Ah. Irida. What are you doing here?” Gaeric asks, rolling his shoulder as they both come to a stop. His voice is stern, but it has something deep inside that feels like dread when Irida hears it. There’s a tremor in there that she cannot identify, but it spells something that she’d rather not have there at all. That, and Sneasler stands right behind, the frown engraved in the Noble’s face as she looks pained.
It gives Irida a sense of dread as well, to behold the both of them there.
“I’m looking for you, idiot! Going off alone… with… Sneasler…” She starts, but then fully processes the fact that Sneasler is there, and that her basket is somehow on Gaeric’s back, and that the basket is filled with something that he’s even struggling to properly carry.
The dread grows ever harsher, as his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches. Gaeric looks dead serious when he continues to walk straight ahead in the direction to the Clan.
“Irida.” He doesn’t stop walking. “Something happened.” She finds her gaze dropping to the noble’s limp, and the way her coat is matted with dried blood and debris. It draws a little gasp from the girl, and when Gaeric looks behind him he opens his mouth several times, and closes it once more than that.
“Wh-what happened?” She dares, no, she has to ask. She’s the leader. Something isn’t right, and she has to handle it. The girl’s footsteps rush to catch up with her mentor’s, and Irida stops in front of him to see a face so startled it hurts.
“Gaeric. Where’s Aunt Ajisai?”
There is a young man sitting in a space that is dark with a singular window. He stares outside, watching the drifting snow with bleary eyes that do not quite comprehend what is going on. He doesn’t especially know how he got here, but he does remember one thing.
His name is Ingo.
There are things he is sure he has forgotten. Many things. Things that cause a great panicked rumbling in his chest, lancing through his limbs with cold, piercing fear. Something hammers away, a terrified energy that he cannot dismiss no matter how hard he tries to soothe it.
It feels like his fault, for some reason. His fault, for ruining it all.
Ingo blinks, and sees scruffed fur, and hears echoes of speech. It’s all unfamiliar and scrambled, as if someone shook his head so hard that everything on the planet became jumbled in response. It’s as if up is down, and down is up, and left is right, and right is left.
He becomes so focused on directions that he forgets what he originally was thinking about. He supposes that’s fine, and leans back with a huff at the warmth that leaches through from outside this strange case.
It seems… damaged. That’s a good word for it. Damaged. There are rips and tears in the fabric, and he can see small holes in where the wicker of the basket itself is ruined. It’s kind of like this strange black coat he’s clinging to.
He doesn’t know why. His hands tremble, white knuckled with how hard he is clutching the destroyed fabric, and Ingo finds himself curling inside the thing. His head feels especially bare despite being covered in a large tuft of silver. Covering it with his hands or the coat itself does nothing to soothe the feeling. It makes him sob, and he does not understand why.
But the longer he cries, the longer he realizes that it is not about the coat. It is not about anything here at all, but there is something clutching his chest demanding attention. It’s wailing, if a feeling could even be described as such. It’s begging, pleading, terrified. It kicks and squirms deep inside, and Ingo on reflex grabs that emotion and holds it with care.
Something settles. It’s panicked and afraid. It makes him continue crying until there are no more tears to shed. Something stings on his wrists as his eyes droop, and he cannot tell what could have possibly done such a thing. There is nothing there when he looks, and yet beads of blood drop in a steady, small trickle from wounds that came from nowhere. A fresh, distinct feeling of pain courses through them, and it makes the emotion spike as he grips the coat tightly.
There is guilt, and on top of it concern. It pours out of his chest as if it was his lifeblood, and attempts to do anything to stop what ails the presence inside. But he is tired. Ingo is oh so exhausted, and he cannot keep his eyes open any longer. The last whisperers of the overwhelming emotions die down, and along with them his consciousness.
“I’m so sorry, Irida.” Gaeric breaks the silence, after a long while. After nothing remained during their talk save for walking and the occasional sleepy groan coming from the basket. Avalugg’s Legacy glitters next to them, a beacon in the wilderness. A signal of strength.
“Home is coming up in a while.” He says, and he feels like there never was any kind of real strength in his entire body at all.
“Then you can bring him to my tent.” The reply is solemn and it still contains the raw edge of someone who had been crying not moments before. Irida wipes frigid eyes as they walk quietly, still recovering from the news. She looks to the basket with worry, regardless.
That is still a Vessel, soon to be a Warden. That is still an incredibly hurt, incredibly scared Vessel who has given up so much in service to their Clan. She doesn’t even know his name, and yet. That is one of her people, now.
Gaeric’s nod is almost reverent in intensity, and he starts to march with renewed vigor towards the quickly approaching hill. Beyond it is a small crowd. Too small, for his liking. All of the faces are expectant, and they gasp in a chorus when Sneasler appears.
“Warden Gaeric!” A woman, Leuca, says as she walks up to them quickly. “Leader Irida! We of the Clan wish to assist you. Please, give us guidance.” She looks expectantly, and then something in her face changes at the appearance of the noble.
“Is the Noble Sneasler Injured?” An elder this time, Vicus, one of the old men that likes to sit and drink tea in the center of their settlement. More and more join him, until practically all of the Pearl Clan is swarming with questions.
“Coming through!” Gaeric screams over them and paves the way, and Irida is quick to follow his confident facade. He smiles at the people he passes by, but it is a thing brittle in nature.
“Please call the Wardens.” Irida does, in fact, ask the elder this much.
“It shall be done. What is the reason?” He nods eagerly, and several others start to prepare flutes. Irida’s sigh is grave, before she works up the nerve to talk once more.
“It is an emergency.” Her voice cracks, and the message is clear. None dare to enter the Leader’s tent, save for a few knocking and asking if they need supplies. Help is gratefully accepted, before the door remains shut.
Whistling, shrieking tones ring out across the valley, traveling with an almost divine presence along the tundra to the foothills. They reach one, who continues the chain with the most efficiency one can afford in such a place.
The sound rings out across Hisui.
The highlands are empty, save for a Warden who does not heed a Pearl’s call. He stares outward over the horizon, and wonders.
And still, it rings out across Hisui.
A child looks up from his digging, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes narrow at the flute song echoing along the forest, disturbing the morning peace that had settled all around him. Insects of all shapes and sizes scatter about, eventually finding peace once again after a matter of moments. A giant behemoth lays nearby, awakening from its slumber to look around. The arms of Kleavor heft its body up from rest, and it starts to walk up to the boy expectantly.
“Noble Kleavor, I need your aid.” He says, and then thinks for a moment, before realizing what he forgot. “Please?”
A woman watches the Noble of the Grandtree take off, sprinting down the Fieldlands to the crossroads. Despite himself, the Warden of such a fantastical creature yells in excitement at being given such a ride. He sees her and frowns immediately, sticking out his tongue before disappearing into the sunrise.
“Good luck!” She says, and they’re already too far away to hear a response.
And still, it rings out across Hisui.
“I wonder where the time has gone.” An old woman says, staring at the ancient carvings on the wall. Her stature is small and her eyes are tired, and her back is arched in what could be considered a weary, crunched position as her arms lie crossed behind. A pack filled with herbs rests on that back, but she is still spry enough to carry it.
Padded paws stretch on the marble floors of the ruins, worn by many long years of wear. The animal they belong to yawns, exposing giant, flat teeth that grumble as the creature is awakened. Bibarel is slow, old, and tired. Just like her, Calaba supposes. Still, as her companion waddles over, she is quick to give it a good old scratch behind the ears and sit with it as they wait out the rest of the time allowed.
Calaba hears that siren song of warning, a calling. She is out of the ruins, flanked by her friend, quicker than anyone else could have been. A whistle from aged lips, made just perfectly so, emulating what the flute would have with a special touch, and she has summoned that which is so very important.
Ursaluna emerges from the foothills, massive paws carving deep indents into the earth as it approaches quickly.
“Seems we have some trouble yet, old friend.” She greets the Noble with a familiar kind of reverence expected of a Warden of her standing, hoisting Bibarel on first so it can doze happily in the saddle.
And still, it rings across Hisui.
By the time the sound of the flute reaches the Coastlands, it has already flown far past the foothills, skirting along the waters and singing deep along the rocky cliffs that surround Palina’s tent.
The Growlithe are the first to alert to the noise, barking far before the woman inside can hear. She steps over squirming pups to open the flap, taking in the salty sea air before a presence makes itself known right next to the structure.
Arcanine is positively gargantuan, a force of nature manifest into a Noble so great it blocks the sun itself. The creature howls with the mighty wind, and stomps with the earth.
“Are you ready?” She asks, taking out her flute. “I did not know that you would be here so soon.” She receives a bark in response, followed by the slouching, inviting posture of an animal waiting to give someone a ride. Palina isn’t one to turn down such an offer, and she makes a small prayer of thanks before boarding.
Arcanine howls once more, and Palina’s flute joins the others echoing across the land. And still, the flutes resound until the Wardens all reply with their own. Silence settles, and all remains as it was in the vast space of Hisui.
The tent is incredibly quiet and warm when Irida enters. There is a feeling of home and belonging, despite the scene taking place in the center of the room. A sagging basket is quickly placed down, and the lid is practically ripped off with how fast her mentor and friend takes control of the situation. He gasps at something inside, and immediately bends down to address it.
“Shh, shh.” He starts to say with a hushed voice staring down inside, and it can only mean one thing. The new Warden to be is awake. Awake and terrified, by the way a skinny hand pushes away any attempts at helping him out of the basket. Irida can’t help the flinch that comes when she sees the Warden Band on his wrist. Gaeric gives him time, and looks to Irida with a sharp glare of warning. It is a kind glare, made of nothing but concern, but nonetheless conveys what he means.
And that is for her to stay put, away from all of this for a moment.
She heeds her mentor’s wishes, and settles down near the entrance. Merely seconds later there is a hesitant, respectful knock. Gaeric freezes at it, as well as the person in the basket, and she sees for the first time eyes of silver and blue, a swirl of concentrated color that flashes with purple.
It is odd to see that color of hair on someone who was clearly bestowed with the covenant. There is no shock of blue, nor is there a flash of purple. It simply is silver, something that many would never see on someone that young. Only Calaba’s tales come to mind, and she absentmindedly wonders if somehow Calaba will be the warden to not arrive.
That’s a thought quickly dismissed. No, there are things to do. It would be silly of her to expect her aunt, her friend, her family, to walk through that door. It would be even worse of her to expect another close friend to die from such a terrible fate.
Still, the new vessel stares with terror and just a hint of curiosity, his mouth continues to hold a strong frown and his strange, silver hair lines his face in a strange pattern. Sure looks like Warden material, as much as some stranger would be.
“Lady Irida. We have resources. We saw the wounds on the Noble Sneasler and have decided to help you in any way we can.” Lati is a prominent mother, and holds with her a bundle of herbs and fresh skins of water. Some are holy, from the springs, and she nods gratefully.
“Do you have any other needs? We are happy to assist in any way possible.” She asks, and Irida shakes her head with a sad smile.
“No, but thank you.” A few others stand behind, and Irida is sure to regard them as well. “Thank you all. You are the best Clan anyone could have asked for. After the Wardens have assembled and we have conversed with the elders, there will be time for announcements.”
“We await the guidance of Sinnoh,” A few say at once, and Irida is sure to bow in respect before going back into her home. The young man is still in the basket when she turns to look at the scene. He’s clearly wary, and judging from the way his frown never leaves, he does not want to be here.
And yet, he does not yell. He does not scream, nor does he fight. He just sits and watches Gaeric with wide eyes, studying quietly.
“Xx,.xxx.x.xx.x.xxxx.x.” The voice coming from him is emotional and clear, speaking so much without even being able to comprehend it. He almost seems to relax when they both don’t speak, and mouths over words in the silence under his breath.
“I’ve tried asking names, places, what he knows.” Gaeric tells her with a hushed tone, taking a sweet berry and presenting it to him. He gasps a little at the sight, and goes to grab it before blinking, and hesitating.
“You can take it.” Irida says, trying her hardest to keep a positive outlook. It’s incredibly hard when viewing a replacement you don’t even know, and especially one who is such an enigma. He doesn’t respond, other than the tilt of the head and a furrowed brow. Still frowning.
“You can also get out of that basket. We are going to prepare it for funeral rites.” She tries again, and he doesn’t do anything. He just sits there. It’s enough to make rage rear its ugly head in her soul, and Irida cannot stop herself from making a noise of disgust. No one, not even the Diamond Clan has refused to make way for funeral rites. The young man takes his strange coat and curls into it at the sound, and his trembling only increases.
It feels like he’s spitting on her memory. Such a strong, wonderful, beautiful, caring woman. Such a quick, unexplained vessel’s appearance with her band. For some reason, it makes Irida unusually burst with rage. Her hands dart out, fueled by desperation and grief, and they find the ends of the fabric quickly.
“Irida! Wait!” Gaeric is unusually silent, until she starts crying and shaking him, almost scarily out of control. He doesn’t dare move, face frozen in terror before arms reflexively push away.
“He killed her!” She screams, refusing to let go and only shaking harder as tears start to fall from the strange boy’s face. “You! You damn intruder! You killed her! You killed my aunt!”
“No!” A yell from behind, and Irida is suddenly ripped from the quickly moving body in front of her, and turned suddenly to face the other direction. Gaeric. Gaeric with his dripping tears, as he frowns in worry. Gaeric, shaking his head and working over what he wants to say as he also looks behind her. He takes a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and opens them.
“Irida.” He says, solemn. “You need to calm down.”
“Let me go!” She cries and tries to turn back, but Gaeric holds her shoulders with a firm kindness that does not yield. “I need to stop this! I can stop this right now, and rid the world of it! That… that… that thing can’t be human! It took her!”
“Irida!” The barking yell breaks her out of it, and causes her to pause completely. She only notices the shuddering breath and her own tears when given the moment of silence that stretches for eternity.
“He doesn’t understand.” He says, and the entire world starts to run together, bleeding into a pulling mess that slowly blends into more and more. It’s such a claustrophobic, maddening feeling that she shakes her head before continuing. But it makes sense. It’s a possibility she’s never thought of, one that she didn’t want to believe.
“He…” She whispers, and Gaeric is oh so welcoming to her. He closes the distance, and holds his leader close as she weeps. “He does not understand us.”
Gaeric’s careful eyes look up from where she hugs him back, and his strong hands rub her head in reassurance. The wailing from the girl echoes, but it is not the only face he can see crying. There is another. The new guy, who tripped over himself running out of the basket. The young man who is hiding alongside a shelf and a bed, trembling. He looks so very scared, and so very small despite his older appearance.
That’s a child. That’s a child and he’s alone and he can’t comprehend anything they say to him. The boy’s eyes catch those watching and he flinches, rubbing his wrists with a pained whine. It seems that everyone here is crying at some level, today.
There is a moment where the tears run out for all of them, and Gaeric sits on the opposite side of the tent to the newcomer. He lets Irida listen to his heartbeat, rubbing her back reassuringly as she rests, and hopes for the best. The mystery boy still sits in a panicked bundle, still rubbing his wrists and covering his face with that coat. They all only continue to watch each other, until Irida dares to break that sacred silence.
“Tell me how you found him,” She whispers, and then pauses for a moment. “Please.”
Ursaluna’s rumbling gait progresses with a steady rhythm. The bear’s steps are grounded and firm, approaching the foothills of her birth. It’s the same as it ever was, and yet so different to Warden Calaba.
The sounds of warning flutes used to never echo here. Nor did the somewhat friendly rivalry of Wardens. Nothing like this in the slightest. No, she remembered far worse.
She is thankful that the only flames she sees are those of the great Arcanine, bounding along the hills as if they were created as steps to the heavens. A legendary creature with a hot headed woman at the helm, a molten duo that blazes the trail. They touch down close by, and Palina is quick to wave with a smile.
“How are you doing, Warden Calaba!” She asks, and Calaba gives her a wave.
“As well as one can be when there is an emergency afoot. A call to a meeting can only mean bad news.” Calaba’s voice is gravely and stern, just as Ursaluna’s grumble is to Arcanine’s yipping barks.
“Yes, you are correct.” Palina ponders, although she seems incredibly distracted to the old woman who’s listening. Strangely so, for someone who has had no contact with anyone for a number of months. “Have you seen Warden Ajisai?”
Calaba thinks for a moment. No, no she has not. In the entirety of her trek through the Highlands, there has been no sign of Warden nor Noble. The realization is quite shocking, but then again… this is the rebellious one we’re talking about. One of the rebellious ones, anyway.
A simple shake of the head suffices for an answer. Palina nods, and presses her heels into Arcanine’s side. The dog howls with excitement, and flames trail from where it steps with mighty paws.
“I’ll get there first!” She yells, waving once more behind her, and Calaba watches the two of them disappear. She simply continues on the way, through the wilderness, and keeps an eye out for a flash of purple and blue.
“That’s…” Irida’s voice is barely audible, despite the room being so very quiet. “That’s impossible. Sneasler doesn’t just leave the highlands. Ajisai doesn’t go to the Icelands without telling anyone. She could have visited. She would have visited.”
“Yeah, she probably would have.” Gaeric answers, a rumbling presence that exists all around her. She shivers, and dares to open a shimmering blue eye to see… that’s Gaeric all right. It’s almost enough to make her laugh, but Irida opts to break the hug instead.
“Are you feeling better?” He asks, calm and in control. It is not for the first time that Irida wonders if he could be a better Leader than her. He receives a nod from the girl, and seems to relax even more.
“Thank you for calming down. Now,” Gaeric’s tone is even, but his voice pinches ever so slightly into a choke when he beholds what awaits at the other side of the tent. Irida finds herself staring at something on the floor, instead.
She can’t look at him. She has to. She can’t. The argument in her own mind stews and churns until she feels like she will be sick.
“Irida. I’m going to go make sure he’s okay.” Gaeric’s hand meets her shoulder, and the contact grounds her. Another nod, because the Leader of the great Pearl Clan cannot bring herself to talk without crying. What a pathetic waste of a position.
“Hey. Hey there… shh…” She can hear him behind. He’s soft, and strong, and smart. Everything that she isn’t, everything that she’s been trying to learn so desperately to become a better person. He stops talking altogether at some point, and all Irida can hear is the sound of her own rushed breathing and the shifting of fabric behind her.
She knows that she will have to turn around in a moment. She will have to turn around and view that which she has wronged, that terrible thing looping in her mind. But she does. And the flinch she sees, that terror in his eyes mixed with the deplorable condition of his clothes, it all cascades into something beyond guilt. It is beyond remorse, bringing shame and a clinging kind of desperation to make things better. But above all, it brings something that she thought she would never see out of someone who had never stepped foot in the Pearl Clan’s village.
On his face, behind that frown that never seems to leave and the standoffish nature of such a person, is grief. It is mourning, it is pain, and it is confusion. Irida looks back, and sees a strange reflection of herself in the murky waters of uncertainty.
The hand that stretches to the person in Gaeric’s arms, just like she was merely moments ago, comes automatically. Eyes uncertain stare at her in terror.
“It’s okay.” Gaeric’s voice is soft and reassuring and the kid hugging him leans in close, obviously traumatized beyond belief. The hesitation after he realizes what she’s doing is agonizing, but Irida knows that it is justified.
It’s just so much more complicated than she’d ever thought it could be.
But it seems that there’s not just hopelessness. The boy blinks, and kindly urged on by Gaeric, shifts his weight so that he scoots away on lanky, uncoordinated limbs. They shake as he moves, fumbling with the edges of that strange black coat he wears to keep his arms covered completely at all times.
He stops. He gulps. He hums under his breath with trepidation, as if pondering something internally, and his eyebrows crease under the pressure of such a decision. Irida only stays silent and hopeful, and yet she herself cannot stop shaking as well. And then, a hand still concealed by the arm of that fabric dares to reach, his silver eyes glittering with that same hope reflected as they lose any other color entirely.
It’s an exception to a rule longstanding, with no explanation in the slightest. It’s peculiar, but he also has the Warden’s band lying underneath there. Ajisai’s Warden band. Nothing about this is normal, nor is it pretending to be. And yet, when Irida feels the warmth of the hand that dares to hold her own, even after such a transgression, she feels as if it will be alright.
Only seconds later, it is not alright. None of this is alright as she watches him wobble in place, clearly out of it from any number of things. None of it is alright as she pulls back her hand, feeling something strangely moist, and sees an imprint of blood coating it in various stages of drying.
Irida can’t help the yelping shriek of surprise that escapes her at the sight. The boy flinches back, bristling and rubbing his wrists before quickly letting out a shaky, exhausted sigh. Gaeric is quick to move even faster than she can possibly react, shushing under his breath with a worried glance.
“Can I see?” He asks, quiet and controlled. It is so unlike him, that boisterous, energetic Warden who never lets up. He moves slowly and openly, hands outstretched to speak where words cannot. The boy once again hesitates, although he does nod in a stern manner before moving closer. The message seems heard, although the reaction might be one of resignation rather than trust. He barely makes eye contact with Gaeric at all.
It does not seem to matter that much in the long run, given what lies underneath the long arms of what he clings to. They slide up his forearm gingerly, and with an edge of panic, as if the boy dreads what exists underneath. The slow trickle of blood that drips from his fingertips is only the beginning of what really ails him.
There are wounds, indented painfully and unevenly all around his wrist. It seems to come from thin air, a strange pressure evident on his skin and yet coming from nothing at all. The boy gasps at the sight, rolling back on his legs to stumble towards the wall, holding it with terror.
“Wait! We can help you.” Gaeric is quick, once again, and goes to him without trapping him between a wall and a person. The young man bristles, but it is one of fear and not aggression. “Can we please help you? I have a medical kit and bandages. That looks like it hurts.”
“Xxx.xx.x.xxxx.x.” He, of course, does not understand. He mumbles, a voice so expressive it conflicts with the face that speaks it.
“Please. All I want to do is help. That wound will hurt worse if it is not treated.” Gaeric continues, and looks back at her with a desperate expression when the boy refuses to budge. “I think we’re going to need something to help, and fast. If it’s not fixed…”
“Let me.” Irida says as she beholds the nasty mess on her hand, and then stares at the boy shaking in the other side of the room, whining quietly. She feels something change at the sight, as well as at the small little flecks of red coating the bottom of her floor. It’s something that takes her breath away.
It hits her harder than anything in her life. It hits harder than when she and Ajisai sat next to Lake Acuity, watching the broken items sink. It hits harder than the responsibility itself, ever crushing and overwhelming often to the point of tears. It hits harder than seeing the basket, and knowing that she will be the one left.
The thing that hits her is regret. Regret that she was so cruel. Regret that she considered something so wrong that would have ruined the memory of every single person counting on her. There are eyes, watching, and the sensation is so real and raw that Irida has no choice but to look behind her to see absolutely nothing there.
But she knows. She knows that the God of Space, the holy presence watching over all of them, has seen her regret. And it demands penance and reconciliation. Strangely, Irida feels calm despite the fallout taking place all around her.
“I will handle it.” She says, so firm and bold yet feeling nothing of the sort, and she stands with what she hopes looks like confidence. “Just please get the fire going.”
Irida doesn’t wait for a response. She doesn’t wait for anything anymore, wiping the blood from her hands. The sensation of it being there does not go away, and it almost burns to the touch. She shakes her head, flicking the droplets of water away from her fingers. The fire starts to roar behind her, and Irida dares to look there once more. For some reason the stranger has found his way to sit there, and he relaxes as heat fills the room with dancing flames.
Gaeric is quick to grab some jerky and a small helping of apricorn mash, offering it without a word but so much body language. The smell, while uncooked, permeates the air and causes the boy to stumble over himself to eat it. He only hesitates when he’s about to take the bowl, but Gaeric practically shoves it in his hands.
All of it is inhaled in mere minutes. Truly, this is the power of teenage hunger. Gaeric isn’t sure if that’s even abnormal, truth be told. He’s seen a lot of people in the Clan go at it like that, and they’re fed well enough. The shaky quality to the way he lets the bowl go, that way he struggles to balance, and the drooping eyes tell him all he needs to know, however.
“Is any of this holy?” Gaeric asks, getting up to help without disturbing too much of his surroundings. He’s a big guy, and this is a small tent, and things have happened before. He instead walks around the hearth, approaching the water that Irida is getting ready for use.
“It has been blessed at Acuity, and twice boiled.” She says, nodding along before pointing at the correct jar. It’s a gourd base, an apricorn grown into a large shape reminiscent of a pot and closed with a carved wooden plug. “It needs to be thrice boiled for salvation.” She adds, and he nods along. That is an old tale told by the likes of Calaba and the elders, a warning in a poem from the days of wounds far and wide.
If the water was not holy, you need not put it on the wound. Glaciers kiss that which dwells in Acuity, but it must be purified further. Once and you may drink. Twice and you may bless. Thrice, and at the time of treatment, and only then may you bestow healing with the aid of Sinnoh.
The kettle is filled, and soon the three of them sit and watch it slowly start to steam over the coals. The young man refuses to show his hands, but he does move closer to Gaeric, just as Irida does in an effort to have someone there while they pass the time. It is quiet, as the water boils and she starts to shuffle around thin strips of carefully dried medicinal herbs that were hung along the ceiling.
There is a thin, almost bowl like plate carved from wood and of the same texture as most of her items. It’s covered with a glossy, thick paste that’s almost like a varnish to keep them in working order, well used and worn by time. Although, when Irida thinks about it, she’d rather refer to it as existing in many spaces. She pours the boiling water inside, and says a quick prayer in the hopes that Sinnoh will heal before laying at least four of the fibrous herbs down inside.
“Some day, may you reveal yourself to us in the vastness of space,” Irida hums as she speaks, taking some of the water and padding it on a towel. It is damp, but not soaking wet. “so we may have true peace.”
“Alright.” She says, finally opening her eyes after she follows the traditions set forth, and then reaches over, offering to clean silently. He doesn’t move in the slightest, hesitation written clearly where words cannot. It causes Irida to hum under her breath, and contemplate.
“Maybe…” She tries once more, and softly uses the towel to spread the warm, blessed water alongside her wrist before laying one of the reeds there, simulating what would happen to his wound.
“Oh!” He says, and it’s clear to see what’s going on in his head. Yes, there is surprise, but there is also cooperation. He goes to shrug off the coat to clear the area before abruptly stopping, and he ends up staring at the fabric longingly.
“I can hold it.” Gaeric’s speech is slow and deliberate, an attempt to bridge the gap that stands hauntingly vast between them. He holds his hands out, picking up a nearby shirt and pretending to take it off.
The boy simply looks at him, seemingly on the verge of tears as his frown trembles. He shakes his head quickly, and opts to pull up the nasty sleeves of the garment instead.
“We’re going to have to clean that.” Irida says, before she holds out the towel once more. It’s more for herself than anything else. The boy nods, gulping, and holds out his wrists for her to clean before adjusting and scooting closer for a better angle. “You can’t wear that for the funeral. You’ll have to take it off.”
Regardless, the wounds are worse than she’d initially thought. They have to be made from friction, seeing as the skin around them is rubbed raw and weeping. They drip steadily, never a good sign, and she places a towel around the hand that doesn’t have the band first in an effort to ease his pain.
He hisses through his teeth at the sensation, but nothing more. Irida takes a deep breath, and dares to look at the arm with the Warden’s band on it. She needs to just do it, to just continue and stop the bleeding, but…
She still recoils at the sight of crimson splattered on the wood, the glittering icon of her aunt’s beloved friend. It all comes together in a grotesque display that makes her want to run right then and there. But there is someone in need, and another towel that has to be applied before the medicinal herbs. The face reminiscent of a Growlithe that’s been caught tracking mud everywhere might have something to do with how quickly she recovers, as well.
“Remove it?” She asks, knowing that it will be a battle. It’s always a battle to get a Warden to take away their sacred gift. The way that the boy obliges after seeing the hand motions without a fight, showing the mark, is something that a Warden would never do. The brilliance of holy light that dwells underneath could be none other than a covenant. He hands it over with a lack of understanding, wincing after it brushes against the damaged skin.
The skin that was underneath the clean Warden’s band, the one she saw completely fine just minutes before. It’s as if something otherworldly is manifesting, bringing with it unseen horrors from beyond.
If Calaba was present, Irida is sure that she would hear the term “cursed” thrown around.
But this person is not malicious. Not as the boy yawns and hovers in place as if fighting sleep, and not as he attempts to help her by turning his wrists and keeping quiet while she tries to clean them as painlessly as possible. The reeds are wrung out and left to stay only slightly damp before being applied, Irida whispering the ghosts of prayers as they cover what must be protected at all costs.
The light is smothered quickly, respectfully, before he is able to fully relax and let the treatment set in. His eyes make contact, piercing, and blink several times in an owlish, polite pattern as if apologizing. He must be exhausted.
“Got you covered, whenever you’re done.” Gaeric says from the other side of the room, taking out a spare bedroll he got from somewhere. The sigh of relief that escapes her directly opposes the flinch she sees from the young man.
“It’ll be fine. It’s just us, see?” Irida explains the best she can, noting how he relaxes at seeing Gaeric. She then makes a motion with both hands on one side of the face, closing her eyes.
“Sleep?” Irida asks, and she receives a shake of the head in response, followed by a yawn that is clearly involuntary. One of the reeds almost falls off of his wrist when he goes to cover his mouth, and he is quick to replace it with an almost panicked expression.
A quick learner, if she’s ever seen one. There might be hope for the Pearl Clan yet.
“Nah, give it a minute.” Gaeric tells her, lifting things with ease and rearranging them quickly before he looks over. “Oh yeah, he’s gonna pass out soon. Just get him over here if you can.” Irida blinks, and so does the new guy, and they both blink together for a moment before she gets up and offers a hand.
“Please come with me.” She says, softly. “You need to rest for it to fully take effect.” The offering is soon met with his own unsteady grip, and she pulls gently to lead him across the room. Trembling limbs carry an uncertain person, but luckily his stumbling is short lived. They make it quickly, and despite his anxiety the young man hastily finds his way into the covers, curling in on himself.
“Em…” He whispers a word, a prayer perhaps, under breath that is quickly evening out into a tired rhythm. His eyes move strangely, slowly failing to keep him awake, and she watches as he places his head on the pillow fully and closes them. Desperate hands cling to the ends of torn fabric, and they pull his coat around him as he shivers. He yawns, and finally doesn’t move after only a few minutes.
“Em…” That word, again. Irida can’t place it, but the way it makes him start to cry in his sleep is proof enough that something has gone horribly wrong.
“Poor bastard.” Gaeric says behind her, a hand on her shoulder placed as a gentle reminder of his presence. “What in Space are we going to do about this?”
“I have no idea.” Her reply, and she gets up to do what she can. Dishes are carefully wiped and cleaned, the kettle replaced with some tea. They both just do what they can do in silence, the methodical and normal taking over where the situation is too overwhelming.
“The other Wardens couldn’t get here any faster.” Gaeric says, filling the silence between the two. Looking back at the boy he wonders if Lian even should see something like this. He’s far too young, and yet too proud to be swayed away from his duty.
They’re all so young. Too young for him to be comfortable with it. It’s too bad that no one has a choice, and they must do what they have to for survival. The Clans of old knew better. The Clans knew what to do, and the people left behind after that most recent of wars are left to pick up what remains.
Gaeric just hopes that it’s enough.
There’s a moment he considers staying, but he has neglected his duties for far too long. Palina is the most swift, and yet she must cover the distance of their entire land. Lian shouldn’t be trying to get here with the utmost speed, but he will. Hopefully he’ll arrive in one piece. Calaba is reliable, and she will most definitely help the new guy with what he needs. He looks back one more time to Irida, and nods to her before departing.
“Gaeric!” A few kids sit outside with Platea, playing in the afternoon light. They all practically fly to him when he opens the door, and the man finds himself greeting them with a confident wave before turning to the old woman with a stern expression.
“Where is Sneasler?” He asks, and she points to another place, which happens to be his own tent. “Thank you.”
“Children, leave us.” She says, and they all oblige quickly. It’s then that her face turns grave. “The noble seems upset without a Warden.”
“Ah.” Gaeric mutters, caught off guard. “You knew.”
“I have seen much, though not as much as Calaba.” Platea muses, before coughing in the harsh, frigid air. “We have had a few incidents, even losing our beloved Nobles, but none where the Noble still lives and the person does not. Pray tell, who was somehow there to steal our beloved, sacred position?”
“I don’t think it’s like that.” He’s quick to clarify. “I am sure that you could go inside, and learn everything that you need to know. I am going to see to Sneasler before anything else happens.”
“Wise, Gaeric.” A nod, and the woman doesn’t leave her post. “I have faith that your judgment is sound. If the Holy Sinnoh demands change, I am simply an old woman clinging to faith. Besides, someone has to watch this door for pesky little ones.”
“Please take care.” Gaeric is sure to tell her, before he hurries along. “Thank you.” He turns, outlined by the sun peeking through overcast. She waves despite being unable to witness it any longer, but the wind and sound carry with them everything she truly needs to know.
Gaeric’s tent, unlike Irida’s, is one bustling with activity. In the center of it all is a giant mess of purples and blues, an eye staring directly as he enters with a pensive nature.
“Warden Gaeric!” Several people ask questions at once. “Is Irida alright? Where is Warden Ajisai? Why is the Noble Sneasler here?”
“I don’t have many answers for everybody.” The moment he starts to speak, everything in the room stops with baited breath. “We’re having a meeting of Wardens to discuss everything, then the entire Clan will know. I don’t even know the half of it, to tell you the truth.”
The Noble in the room blinks at his words, and slumps upwards, shaking off talismans and herbs in her wake. A few people rush to put them back on, and Sneasler makes a big show of shaking them off. She smirks, although it lacks much of what constitutes a smile, and walks through the miniscule space to meet Gaeric’s line of sight directly.
Before leaving of her own accord, completely ignoring everyone else.
“Seems like she’s fine to me.” Gaeric mutters, hearing the gasps of awe outside from even here. He turns back to see people panicking, and shakes his head. “I’m going to see what I can do. Thank you for your efforts.”
When he rushes out of the tent to follow, Gaeric only sees the gargantuan beast sniffing the air, ignoring the curious and reverent stares of those that were outside. More and more questions pile up, until her nose catches the wind and the Noble darts over to where he was not expecting.
Irida’s tent is located in the center of their home, a place devoted to giving every single person the space to enter. And it seems Sneasler is doing just that, bounding over on four paws before standing and nodding to the woman standing guard. It’s not a surprise to see Platea pray instead of stop her, the knowing nod of the head by an elder granting safe passage.
“Warden Gaeric,” She says to him as he quickly follows, “I think that there is a magnificent thing happening today. It can be terrible, but it can also be a thing of beauty. Go and see.” Well, he definitely does when he hears the little shriek of surprise from Irida.
The new guy’s place is entirely filled with the massive ball of fur, a moment of peace between a quickly waking person and the Noble. She offers him a claw, one that can rend flesh asunder and climb across solid boulders with ease. He blinks, but it is not one of fear or incomprehension. It is one of honest curiosity, as he lifts a trembling hand and meets the thing with a slow, petting motion as if greeting an old friend.
Purring. Purring is what fills the room, before she picks him up entirely and curls around him gently. He hugs her back with a hum, and then falls back into slumber with what is certainly comfort, despite his expression.
What he sees is something he has felt many times. Something that compels Gaeric to wake every morning and climb that hill, bringing his Noble food and resting on its giant limbs. It’s something that he sees in Sabi, when she hugs the down of Braviary.
It’s trust. A solid foundation made of love and compassion as he clings to her fur in his exhaustion, and as she holds him close, licking his forehead in an effort to heal rather than hunt.
Yes, this is the bond between what a Warden and a Noble should be, Gaeric thinks. He can see it in Irida, as well. Her tears, even in the dimly lit space, glitter with happiness at the sight, and her sigh is one of great relief.
“His sleep was fitful.” She tells him, in a muted whisper as she gets to work weaving something or another. It’s something Irida seems to like, given how she’ll do it whenever something stressful happens. “He was calling out for something, but I do not understand what ‘Em’ could be.”
“I think she heard him,” Gaeric says, watching the boy fall into a deep slumber in his Noble’s arms, before being deposited back onto the bedroll. “Maybe she thinks he’s a kit or something.”
“Wouldn’t be far off.” She sets down her weaving to stretch, seemingly exhausted as well. “Either way, that’s a question answered.”
“I think Calaba will be pleased.” Gaeric watches Sneasler stretch, shaking a little before moving towards them. It’s curious, how the sacred beast watches just him and stands next to the door. It’s some kind of sign, and Gaeric’s weary muscles are probably up to the challenge.
Probably. Definitely.
The other Wardens couldn’t get here any sooner. Truth be told, Gaeric doesn’t know how long he can hold out, as he stands proudly and accepts the challenge. Sneasler nods, and leaves them to stand outside.
“Yes, she cares very much for all of us and wouldn’t want someone to be harmed unnecessarily.” Irida starts to continue, but trails off as she sees his silent conversation with Sneasler. “Gaeric?” She asks, quietly.
“I think I have to do something real quick.” He answers, but the words are shaky in his throat before he smooths them out into his usual. “Don’t get too overwhelmed, okay?”
“Be Careful.” Irida warns, and he nods to her before leaving. The boy does not stir, nor does he cry out in his sleep. He simply snores lightly, his frown content and relaxed. It’s as he deserves, Gaeric thinks, and he sends up a small prayer for the protection of his family.
All of them.
What Sneasler does is also unexpected, and yet somehow, Gaeric feels that it's correct. She leads him to the edge of the village, watching winds howl in the tundra, and beckons him to follow. Gaeric finds himself doing so regardless of how the swelling dread in his stomach pools, and they find a slow, winding rhythm through the wilderness.
It feels like a grave, and Gaeric humbles himself in a reverent state at the lack of anything there. Anything, except for the pile of snow that shudders some ways down the path, trembling with movement.
“Hello?” He calls, running over at a sprint to find little black things poking out of the landscape, a body housed inside a protective shell of ice.
Snorunt, his mind supplies. It’s a creature that lives here, but it’s all alone. Nothing else is here, after all. The Mamoswine have all disappeared or fled from Avalugg’s protection, and the wind weeps without the specters that call it home.
But here, there is a monster. It pops out of the snow with a growling, angry disposition, clearly terrified beyond belief at what happened. At him, as well, judging from the way it spews frost from clenched teeth.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait. I didn’t mean to-” He starts, but Sneasler finishes the sentence for him with a growl of warning that causes the thing to stop. It bristles, before shivering backwards. Little limbs scoot across the ice with ease, and yet it refuses to run. Instead, the creature stares right back at Sneasler with wary eyes, bold and challenging.
“You’re a brave little guy, aren’t you?” Gaeric says, and the Snorunt shivers in what might be fear, despite the act. “I feel the same.”
“You’re all alone here.” Gaeric kneels, and puts out a hand with a berry on it. His band shimmers in frost, and something about it draws the attention of the icy eyes of the Snorunt. “Come with us. I have to do something, but we can do it together.”
Gaeric’s steady feet carry him ever further through the isolating, empty landscape, but he wears on his face a brittle smile of gold. Arms that are built from years of training and use hold within them a shivering, smiling creature that rubs against him comfortingly. It may be cold, but the temperature never bothered him in the slightest. His thick, well maintained muscles made sure of that. Snorunt used them to lift itself, and found its way to sit on his shoulder with trust.
But then, the area slopes once more as a glacial cave comes into view. It’s the same one as before, when he saw Sneasler exit it in alarm and surprise. This time, there’s none of that. There’s only a haunting howl of the wind, and the beckoning, crystalline blue of that frigid cavern. As he looks down, Gaeric balks at the splatters painting the bottom of the entrance, and he gulps past that not so small part of him that wishes to flee at the sight of it.
But Sneasler walks forward without fear, the sacred beast kneeling at the ledge and staring at him expectantly.
“You want me to go down?” He asks, and there’s a moment of horror when she nods affirmatively, a single, strong motion that causes the dread to creep ever further.
But he needs closure, and more importantly, he needs to assess that threat that could be lurking deep underneath, waiting for another victim. Flashes of his loved ones, of that boy, of Irida blow through his mind at breakneck speeds, and Gaeric has to shake his head to dispel them. He nods back, an action of respect, and grabs hold when she motions for him to follow.
The climb is tedious without the basket, slipping and grabbing at limbs and at one point, Gaeric finds himself on reflex yanking on Sneasler’s long feather in an effort not to fall to his apparent demise. She yowls, claws digging into the ice before they still and continue.
“Sorry.” He says, when they finally meet the haunted ground of the misty caverns, and Sneasler doesn’t do much but make a haughty laugh in response. But then they hear something deep within, a growling, howling, cursed noise that crawls up his spine in terror. He sees the absence of even bergmite here, just like the surface. And he sees something move, far inside the caves in a stalking, disturbing series of movements with hazy shadows surrounding it.
Sneasler roars, snarling at it, and he hears the far off echo of a howl. And it all clicks into place.
Gaeric sees a being of grudges manifest charge out of the shadows, absolutely ruined with matted fur and spectral fury, and he knows.
The Baneful Fox has awakened to hunt once more.