Chapter 20.
Lucas's vision started to fade to black. His heartbeat pounded louder than a war drum. His lungs screamed for oxygen, his hands struggled one final time. Blindly coiling through the air, his hands landed on Ricardo's face. Marco… Marco, Lucas thought, I hope you are safe. Jasmine… I'm sorry… sorry for everything.
Something unexpected happened. Responding to his call of emotion, a flash of light seemed to echo through the darkness in his soul. Accompanied by a chilling energy that resonated deep within him, something made Ricardo loosen his deathly grip on his throat.
As Lucas gasped for breath, each taste of air a victory, his vision gradually cleared. He could see the world around him more distinctly, he could see the reason for the change in conflict. Burn marks, like ethereal handprints, lingered on Ricardo's face. The imprints glowed with an otherworldly intensity, marking the point where Lucas's desperate hands had connected with his brother's skin.
A scream echoed. A scream born from the love child of pain and fear. A scream ripped from Ricardo's lungs as he stepped back. Scared of what Ricardo would do, Lucas pushed, trying to get away.
Ricardo stumbled from the push, his hands over his face in agony. Ricardo stumbled from the push, as faint smoke coiled around his finger tips. Ricardo stumbled from the push and tumbled over the railing. Lucas tried to reach out, tried to warn Ricardo, tried to stop the inevitable but nothing worked.
Lucas's breaths came in ragged gasps, trying to understand what he had just done. His hands, remnants of an otherworldly force, glowed faintly before fading away, leaving Lucas in the harsh reality of Medun's dimly lit alley.
Confusion etched across his face, his wide eyes darted between his hands and the vacant space where Ricardo had been just moments ago. The weight of guilt pressed down on him, a heavy burden that threatened to suffocate his every breath. A whisper of doubt slithered through his mind—had he truly caused this, or was it merely another dream?
His knees gave way beneath him, and Lucas sank to the ground. He looked at his hands once more, the same hands that had unintentionally saved him and condemned his brother.
Exhaustion settled in like a heavy fog, wrapping around Lucas's senses. The pain from Ricardo's relentless assault pulsed through every fibre of his being, amplifying the disorientation. His vision blurred, and the sounds of the city morphed into a distant hum.
In the midst of this turmoil, Lucas fought to keep his eyes open, resisting the encroaching darkness. Yet, this was a fight he could not win. His eyelids grew heavy, the world becoming a mere distraction. Trying to stay awake, he heard the sound of footsteps echoing on the cobbles. A voice broke the darkness and Lucas's consciousness slithered back to him.
"Lucas… Lucas stay awake" The voice, a woman's voice, like the cool breeze of spring helped thoughts take root.
"Lucas… Lucas stay awake" The voice repeated, and Lucas painfully managed to open his eyes.
Reality was a veil, her face a hazy image, details unclear.
"Who did this to you?" The voice continued with a concern that Lucas had not felt in a long time.
Worry with scales of fear coiled through his body.
I… Need… to… think. Lucas thought, struggling to seize control of his fleeting consciousness.
The truth coiled tighter within Lucas.
I.. Cant.. Tell… Truth.
The truth covered, concealed in the coils of his consciousness.
"Sashes… Red sashes," he struggled to breathe, pain rippling throughout his body.
Committing to the lie, consciousness fading, Lucas collapsed.
__________________
Present day - Jakob
Yesterday, the two of them, Jakob and Acantha, had left the snowbound simplicity of Makanor. Their mode of transport had been a mystical portal situated at the edge of Makanor, that offered a unique doorway to their destination. Acantha's words had acted as the key, transforming a seemingly ordinary stone block into a portal, facilitating instantaneous travel.
Everything had been a blur, and Jakob had almost been overwhelmed. Having lived his life in the snowbound simplicity of Makanor, the vibrant capital Teizo, had overwhelmed his senses. Having never witnessed such a multitude of people or experienced the symphony of urban life, Jakob felt like an outsider navigating through the intricacies of Teizo. Acantha, a reassuring presence, had guided him through the maze of streets and marketplaces, introducing him to a world beyond the simplicity of his village life.
This was where Jakob had found himself in the present. Trailing behind acantha as sights, smell and sounds hyper stimulated every core of his being.
The air, pungent with a concoction of exotic scents, carried the aroma of street vendors' delicacies, mingling with the unusual spices that wafted from open doorways. Laughter and chatter echoes relentlessly, any moment of silence immediately snatched by the next topic of the day. Brightly coloured fabrics, a kaleidoscope of hues, competed for attention, calling for Jakob to distract himself in their exotic colours. The heat wrapped around everything like an oppressive embrace, a relentless force that seemed to seep into every pore.
A tug on his arm pulled him out of his daze. With Acantha as his guide, Jakob found himself drawn toward a nearby tavern.
The wooden sign creaked overhead, swinging gently by the rhythm of the city. "The Shining Fox." The exterior of the tavern was a patchwork of faded greens and browns, giving it a weathered charm. Ivy crawled up the sides, adding a touch of nature to the urban landscape. The windows, though slightly smudged, beckoned weary travellers and curious locals alike.
As the pair crossed the threshold, the ambient noise and smell of the city faded and Jakob felt he could breathe once more. Acantha headed to the bar, Jakob following in silence as his eyes took in every detail. The dim light revealed a space adorned with worn yet comfortable furnishings. The floor, a dark wood, polished by the thousands of feet that must have padded over it, glimmered with a dusty shine. The tables, empty due to it still being early in the day, were covered with a mosaic of stain marks, each one telling a story that echoed back in time.
Right when Acantha reached the bar, a voice boomed like a war drum from one of the corners of the inn.
"Ironvein."
Acantha, and Jakob, turned to the location of the voice and were rewarded with the sight of a pair of orcs rising from a table. Jakob's gaze fixated on the pair of orcs as they stepped forward, a subtle curiosity lighting up his eyes. He wasn't afraid; the demon in his dreams was a million times fiercer.
The older orc, bare-chested and adorned with a tapestry of battle scars, captivated Jakob's attention. Each scar seemed to tell a tale of sweat and blood, a testament to the countless battles he had faced. Ornamental scars adorned his arms, intricate patterns etched into his green skin, creating a juxtaposition of beauty and brutality.
Standing a head taller than Acantha, the older orc commanded a presence that demanded respect. The pointed ears, reminiscent of elves but shorter and stubbier, added to the orc's distinct features. Small tusks peeked through his lips, a subtle detail that hinted at the fierceness lying beneath the surface.
The younger orc, wearing a simple cloth singlet that left both arms free, showcased a different kind of strength. His muscles hinted at proficiency, a promise of battles yet to come. Like his elder companion, he embraced the green hues of his orcish heritage, but his lack of ornamental scars spoke of a journey still unfolding.
As they approached Acantha and Jakob, the older orc's eyes bore into theirs with a mix of curiosity and assessment. The younger orc, his gaze more exploratory, examined Jakob with a hint of intrigue. Jakob looked back with intrigue,
"Ironvein… You've gotten old." The older orc boomed, voice echoing with strength and a touch of humour.
Acantha looked the intimidating figure up and down and laughed. "Kustag, it's been too long. This is Jakob."
As this, Jakob stepped forward and nodded, unsure of the etiquette and introduction needed. Do I nod, bow, wave or something else? I should have asked Acantha earlier.
Kustag dropped to one knee, kneeling, he looked Jakob in the eyes. Not knowing what to do Jakob stared back, studying the patterns of streaks within Kustag's eyes.
"New blood, eh?" The older orc whispered with a subtle humour, studying Jakobs face.
Kustag, seemingly satisfied with something, nodded as he got back to his feet.
Partially turning to the younger orc he spoke, "He's a good one." Turning back to Acantha, Kustag introduced the younger orc as Kreska.
"Lets, sit and talk," Acantha said, gesturing to the table the pair had risen from.
Kustag nodded, but gestured to Kreska, a flicker of the eyes, a furrow of the brow, a message passed between the pair.
"Let's head outside," Kreska said invitingly. "Those two have more secrets than most people alive."
Looking to Acantha for confirmation, Jakob soon followed the orc. The pair didn't head out the front door, instead choosing a side door that led onto an alley. The sounds and smells of the city rose, but this time, due to the alley, they were much more subdued than they were earlier.
Sitting on some barrels, Kreska gestured for Jakob to do the same.
"Are you going to D.A. academy as well?" Kreska said, fiddling with some leather bindings that wrapped around his forearms. Jakob nervously shifted on the barrels, unsure of the etiquette in this unfamiliar place. His fingers played with a loose thread on his shirt as he considered his response.
"Yea," Jakob nodded, pretty sure that was the name of the academy Acantha had enrolled him in.
Kreska smiled, his tusks pointing to the sky. "Same as me." He turned to study Jakob, curiosity evident on his face.
"Where are you from? I haven't seen those types of clothes, or that symbol before" He said, noticing the Tuhianav as the top of the engraving peaked out of Jakobs clothes.
"Makanor," Said Jakob, revealing the hupoks hidden under his shirt. Kreska let out a little whistle in evident delight at the unique tools.
"Hupoks… Brilliant… And what magic do you have?"
Here, Jakob was stumped, he didn't know what to say. Should he reveal he was a shadow mage, or should he hide it? His fingers tapped nervously on his knee as he debated the positives and negatives. A pause hung in the air as he struggled to think of an adequate answer.
"Oh…" Said Kreska, continuing to speak. "If you don't yet know, It will get revealed at the unveiling ceremony anyway."
"What's the unveiling ceremony?" Jakob questioned as a subtle wave of anxiety took root in his soul. Will everyone know that I am a shadow mage? Will everyone try to hunt me down?
Seeming to not notice, Kreska happily answered, "It's some sort of ceremony at D.A. that reveals what type of magic you have. If you don't know, or might be a double mage, it will show that."
Jakob's eyes darted around the alley, a fleeting thought of heading back into the tavern crossing his mind.
"What magic do you have?" asked Jakob, trying to steer the conversation in a way that wouldn't cause anxiety.
At this, Kreska stepped forward, off the barrels and knelt in the alleyway. Jakob watched as Kreska dipped his hands into the stone.
"I'm an Earth mage," Kreska said, revealing his hands, gloves made out of stone, to Jakob. "We will have to fight some time," he said, "Once you know your magic we will have to spar."
A hint of recognition flickered through Jakobs eyes as he realised some of the stories about orcs were true. Orcs, what he had been told by Ingolf, held combat and fighting as one of the greatest forms of honour. 'To truly know someone, you might fight them' had been a popular saying that Ingolf had adopted. Jakob winced, reminded by the amount of beating Ingolf had given out practising this philosophy. However, feeling a slight need to prove himself Jakob looked forward to the fight.
As Jakob and Kreska continued their conversation about sparring, the alley's tranquillity shattered. The distant echoes of hurried footsteps grew louder, accompanied by hushed whispers that sent an uneasy ripple through the air.
Suddenly, three shadowy figures emerged from the dimly lit end of the alley, their intentions veiled by the darkness.
"They look easy," A whisper, almost as silent as the grave, passed between them picking Jakob and Kreska as targets.
The figure in the middle, hair ragged and coarse stepped forward. Sparks flickered into existence, and his hand started to glow a ruby red as flames sputtered into existence.
"Give us your money… Now."
Jakob and Kreska looked at each other, a flicker of the eyes, a furrow of the brow, a silent signal passing through them.
"Don't do anything stupid." One of the figures, a bald man, to the side of the brown haired fire mage said, flames also appearing on his hands.
By Jakobs side, Kreska stood, clenching his fists and rolling his shoulders in preparation. Looks like it is time to do something stupid then, Jakob thought as his hands grasped his Hupoks.