In the hearth of the aged stronghold there burned a fire, crackling and popping with steam as the wet wooden logs struggled to stay aflame. The light from the flames fought back the shadows of the stone den, which crept along the trims and corners of the room, masking some of the further portions of the chamber in faint darkness. Along the walls were hung small lamps fueled by Vare oil. Vares, a blubbery and lethargic species of sea creature, were often hunted all along the river Brux for their precious, and abundant oil. The oil they produced was both efficient in expenditure, and bright when lit with a wick, making them perfect for lanterns. The interior of the stronghold was made of chiseled stone brick, trimmed with heavy wooden beams which were coated in a thin layer of Arkkon finish to protect them against moisture and mold. The fort itself was quite old, being erected in the early centuries of the great war between the Astari and Aeon. Its structure was forged into the earth, with the entrance being carved into the side of a small cliff. It had been long lost to the forest it was rooted in, forgotten by time and its irrelevance in the present. For many years it sat dormant, without a soul to care or inhibit its walls. That was until a group of wayfaring outcasts came about it, and made it their own. There were four to begin with, but over the course of a half-decade, they grew to a mighty six.
In front of the lit fireplace, there stood a young man, armed with an old wooden broom. He was busy with cleaning the den of the stronghold, having been commanded to do so under the auspices of being disciplined for his failure a few hours back. Even with the hours of work behind him, there was still much tidying up to be done by the boy during the remainder of the night. He had made a rather crucial mistake, after all. Being seen by a witness was nasty business, especially when it was a young one, and a starving one, moreover. Sympathy made it hard to do what needed to be done to keep their secrecy intact, and such were his thoughts filled with images of the boy as he worked. He was surely dead by now, eaten alive by the winter night.
"Damien, are you almost done in there?" Through the pathway to the kitchen there appeared Thaddeus, holding a piece of toasted bread topped with cheese. It was a southern spread, a mix of goat and cow cream from the eastern point of Akrsvon, and one quite popular with the people of Vimbaultir. As he ate, he took in Damien's work, deciding whether it was in need of a second sweep. It was done wholly, and there wasn't much to complain about. As with the rest of the work he had done that night, he took it seriously, meaning the discipline was working as intended.
The two archers weren't the only ones in the den at that moment. To Thaddeus' right, there sat Bella, snug in the seat of an old Lĕrvergan couch that predated their time in the stronghold. She had in her lap an old tome, flipping through its pages in search of some new or interesting information. Written in the language of the Ljósálffa, it was a treasured possession of hers, aiding her in her journey down the road of the Magii. Beside her on the couch was Nallia, who was soundly asleep on her side, snoring gently in her slumber. Being a Nyx, she took up only a small portion of the couch, leaving the rest to the studious woman. Across from them against the adjacent wall, there was their clan leader, Sylas. He was sitting on a matching couch, legs crossed, waiting patiently as he stared out the window next to the front entrance. The gentle flurry had picked up into a moderate snowfall, and the night had but a few hours left until it was vanquished by the sun.
"Yes, sir. I'm done," Damien made a few quick movements with his broom before turning to face his superior. "What's next?"
"Have you eaten?"
"No, sir."
"Well, get something to eat, then," Thaddeus waved him off as he sat down on Sylas' couch. "Make it quick, though."
Damien threw a few nods in his direction before making off towards the kitchen, stowing the broom in the supply closet in the far corner of the den. With the youngest thief's departure, the room grew quiet, save for the faint tapping of Sylas' shoe on the ground, and Nallia's snores.
"And here I thought Nyx were nocturnal," Bella sighed, glancing over at her sister-in-arms.
"Perhaps we're starting to rub off on her," Sylas chuckled, shaking his head. "Her constant harping on Damien must be tiresome, I imagine."
"She oughta stop that," Bella looked up at Sylas, peering through the top of her glasses. "She's giving the poor boy the wrong idea. It's bound to get him hurt one day."
"And you're sure it's the wrong idea?" Thaddeus chimed in, swallowing some of his snack. "I for one have always taken her comments in honesty. Maybe that's how things are done in Arkkon."
"Well, Dame's not from Arkkon, now is he?" Bella scoffed before turning back to her book, turning its old pages with delicate fingers.
"Count's ready!"
Leon stepped out from the hallway leading to the stronghold cache, armed with a short parchment in one hand, and a pen in another. The three awake thieves shot up at the mention of the count, turning to face their swordsman with looks of elation. Without much of a place to sit, Leon moved a short table, which had been put aside by Damien in his sweeping, back to the center of the den and sat down at its side, placing the parchment on its surface. The three others were quick to join him, looking over the list with wide eyes.
"It looks like being cut short didn't take much from the haul, huh?"
"We made out pretty well, that's for sure."
"Three hundred and fifty silver pieces. We could stretch that out for a month, if not more!"
"Sylas, when would we want to pawn it off?" Leon turned to face his leader, who began to ponder over the swordsman's inquiry.
"Mhh," Sylas thought aloud. "Monrose will have an eye out for his inventory, it may be best to head to Vor Del to sell it."
"Ver Del?"
"No, Vor Del, northeast of here. Ver Del has too many prying eyes, with all the merchants coming in, word would get to Monrose that we have his loot."
"You're not worried about being swindled?" Bella added.
"We've been there before, there's no trouble there. As for the time, that depends. Would it be smarter to sell it quickly before word makes it to Vor Del, or should we wait until the buzz dies down."
"I'm one for waiting," Thaddeus chimed, having finished his bread and cheese. "We're in no rush. It would be safer to hold out."
"Aye, that's my thinking as well," replied Sylas.
"I suppose there's no real reason to chance it," Leon nodded, taking into account their savings at the moment. "We have enough to hold out for a few more weeks. Food for us isn't the problem, it's horse feed that will set us back. Not to mention our tithe to the Corps gang is coming up next month. If we miss that, we'll lose our territory.
"True, that is true."
"How about we wait till the first to sell out? We can last until then off our stockpile, and it'll leave us half a week to come up with the coin for the Corps," Sylas made up his mind, relaying his plan to his siblings. "Sound good?"
"I'm for it," came Leon, followed by similar statements from Thaddeus and Bella. Seeing as Nallia was resting, and Damien was in little position to offer input, the plan was agreed upon by the four. They would send a rider or two to Vor Del to cash in on their take from Monrose, and thus their worries for the near future would be taken care of from that simple haul.
"Still no word about the boy?" Leon, standing up, asked his friends.
"Nothing yet. Not that that's surprising, he's likely dead by now," Sylas rose to make for the couch again, collapsing against it as he let out a sigh. "I could see the kid's ribs through his coat. You know, if it weren't snowing, I'd have the inclination to say he would make it here without a scratch. No beast would have a mind to maul him, he's got nothing to eat on him."
"That's cruel," Bella shook her head, noting how Thaddeus laughed in response. "Must we always do this with a witness?"
"Yes, we must," it was Leon who spoke, chiming in before Sylas could once again explain their actions to Bella. "It's all about trading lives. If one witness were to live, that would put us in danger. Six is greater than one, and besides, there's no guarantee they're dead anyway. We scare them off with a promise to hunt them, and they either make it out alive, or they don't."
"Or they end up at our doorstep," Sylas added, glancing over at Nallia. "Those two made it."
"I suppose they did," came Bella in a soft voice. The conversation was over, and all that remained was the crackling of the fireplace, and the subtle snoring of their Nyx companion. "I suppose they did..."
*Knock*... *Knock*
From the circular entrance to the stronghold, there came two solemn knocks, sounding off against the heavy wood of the door. It stirred the four conscious thieves, catching their attention in an instant as they looked towards the front of the den. Damien, who had returned from the kitchen, had arrived in time to hear the knock as well. They were heavy impacts, too heavy to be branches blowing in the wind, or other oddities brewed by the blizzard.
"I'm not mad, am I?" Bella mouthed, closing her book to place it on the cushion beside her. "You all heard that, yes?"
"That we did," Sylas and Thaddeus said in unison, rising from their seats. Soon enough, the five were all standing, facing the door with caution. There came another set of knocks, this time three in total.
*Knock*... *Knock*... *Knock*
Sylas dug a hand under the cushions to reveal a long knife, sheathed with a leather scabbard. Leon and Thaddeus did the same as Bella took up behind them.
"Damien, get your kit!" Called Thaddeus as the three men approached the door. The whole scenario had proven enough to stir Nallia, who sat up on the couch to let out a long yawn.
"*Yawn*, ahhh, what're you all doing?"
*Knock*... *Knock*
"I've got the door," Leon crept forward, holding the blade in his right hand while reaching for the door handle with his other. He grabbed onto it before turning back to glance at the others, who all sent him ready glares. They were ill-prepared to handle danger, but were still primed nonetheless. Bella, expecting the worst, had already begun to conjure a protective stave, waiting for confirmation before casting it on the three.
"Here we go."
With a twist of the handle, the door flew open, letting a gale of snow fly about the den. From the other side of the door, there sat a large black bear, leaning against the wood before promptly falling down onto the stone floor of the den. It was missing a head, with dried blood smeared all across its pelt. The four, caught up in the sight of the headless bear, were slow to notice Ander, standing beside the beast, also saturated with gore. He wavered on his legs for a moment, before falling flat against the floor, shivering profusely in the warmth of the den.
"Oh my gods," Bella mumbled before racing forward to the boy's side. The other three put down their knives at once, joining the woman beside Ander.
"By Essa…"
"What the hell happened?"
"Bella, he needs healing! Drag him in front of the hearth." Sylas and Bella exchanged glances, grabbing the boy by his arms. As they did, life spurred within him, and in an instant, he let out the contents of his stomach, some of which landed on the two thieves. It was mostly fluid, but blotches of crimson were present in it.
"Oh for heaven's sake!"
"Hah!" Thaddeus couldn't help but laugh, having moved the bear aside to allow them to get to Ander. "I'm surprised he had anything in there to cough up!"
"There's blood," the woman cringed, calling upon her arcana to conjure a healing spell. "He vomited blood, he's in ill health."
"Of course he's in ill health! Look, his shoulder's torn up, the poor boy." Leon kneeled beside Ander, inspecting the wounds brought about by the bear.
"Is no one going to mention the bear!" Damien, who was now armed with his bow, finally found the will to speak amongst the commotion. "And the fact that it's missing a head?"
"One mystery at a time, Dame. Looks like he was mauled," Sylas grabbed hold of Ander and dragged him inside, throwing the door shut to keep the blizzard out. "Cuts on his chest, bite marks on his shoulder."
"Frostbite, too," Leon held up Ander's hand, which was coated with dried blood and painted purple by the cold.
"I'm on it," Bella began her chant as her hands glowed with ethereal presence. She clasped them over his shoulder, eyes shut in focus. Out of all the casts coveted by Magii, healing spells were among the hardest. Rebuilding living tissue from the ground up - pulling the strings in such an organized and exact fashion - took a mastery that Bella had just barely achieved. Regardless of that fact, she did her best to mend the boy.
"Nali! Go set a warm bath, and not for yourself!" The older woman called out to the Nyx, to which the short creature smirked. She hurried off towards the stronghold bath, still stretching out her tired state.
"Anything I can do?" Damien called out to Thaddeus, who was wiping his hands clean of bear blood. The older men thought for a moment, before reaching down to retrieve one of the three knives on the ground. He pushed it into the younger man's chest and spoke.
"In fact, there is," Thaddeus grinned. "Grab some real clothes and take the bear outside. Skin it, clean it and cut it up to keep in the under storage. You got that?"
"Y-Yes, sir," he said, first with timidness, then with resoluteness.
"Alright, off with you then," the elder archer motioned towards Damien's room, to which the boy took off.
"Water's ready!" After a few minutes, a cry bellowed from the washroom, the voice belonging to Nallia. "How's the healing?"
"His wounds were already clotted shut, but he lost a lot of blood," Bella relayed what she could feel in her administration. "He should be stable. It's hard to know for sure. His body's so frail that I can't really tell."
"Not frail enough to kill a full-grown bear, apparently," Sylas said, still coming to grips with the headless beast residing in his once-clean den. "Did he drag it here? On his own?..."
"Someone oughta take him to the bath, he needs to warm up."
"Don't they need to warm up slowly? Won't a bath make it worse?"
"I've got him past that, he'll be fine." Bella waved away Sylas' doubt.
"Is that a knife he's got?" Thaddeus noticed a small protuberance from the boy's side, where a small gleam of metal shined through. He lowered down to reach for it, but found a frail bloodied hand keeping him from the knife. It clasped around the older man's hand, tainting his white shirt with a mixture of mud and gore.
"My… Knife…"
The words barely made it out of Ander's purple lips, his voice coarse and dry.
"Is he awake?" Exclaimed Thaddeus, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. "How the hell is he still conscious!"
"Relax, kid," Leon pried Ander's hand from Thaddeus' sleeve, speaking to the boy in a soft voice. "No one's taking your knife. Close your eyes, hit the hay. Relax."
With Leon's soothing words, Ander let his head fall back onto the stone floor, as did his hand drop from Thaddeus' sleeve. He went limp once more, falling into the arms of unconsciousness. The whole scenario was beyond bizarre, and the idea that he was still aware of the ongoings around him was shocking to the lot.
"Thad, mind fetching a set of clothes? Dame's should fit him." With careful hands, Leon leaned over and took Ander in his arms, carrying the frail boy as he stood up. "I'll get him clean, you lot can worry about the bear."
"Try not to move his shoulder," Bella stood up with Leon, her hands still glowing with magic. "Once he's clean, we can bandage him up. You'll let me know if he wakes, yes?"
"You'll be the first to know," Leon replied, sharing a nod with the girl as he took off towards the washroom with a slow and steady stride. The chaos of the moment began to subside, and the remaining members of the group took up their arms in an effort to clean the den, again.
"Dame was right," Thaddeus, who had given Leon the spare clothes for Ander, spoke aloud. "How the hell did he kill that thing?"
The bear was long gone from the interior of the stronghold, now resting outside where the younger archer had taken it to prepare its meat for storage. There was a fair amount to clean up, with a mix of snow, blood, and vomit painting the floor near the entrance. The group made conversation as they worked, mostly centered around the headless beast the boy had dragged with him.
"Well, if I had to guess, he chopped off its head."
"Shut your trap," Bella began to chuckle as Thaddeus berated her. "Obviously it died when it lost its head. But how'd he do it is the question!"
"With the knife, no doubt," Sylas spoke from the corner of the room, watching Damien work as he skinned the bear. "Still doesn't answer how he did it."
"There's more to that boy than meets the eye," the older archer shook his head, ringing out a bloody cloth into a nearby bucket. "That's for sure."
"Well, look on the bright side. If he lives, he'll do rather well around here."
"That he may," Sylas added., lost in thought about the whole ordeal. "That he may…"
O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O
In every direction, there stretched an endless, all-encompassing void, barren of light nor darkness. A limbo between existence and extinction, a threshold for the quick and the dead. It was true emptiness, an eternal abyss with nothing held in its guard. Except, that statement wasn't entirely true. There was something within the confines of the void. A young man, draped in blue nightwear, stood alone in the dark, shivering with his arms crossed across his chest. With every exhale, he would let out a cloud of frost from his lips as the warm air of his breath met the freezing nature of the void. His body quaked from the cold, shuddering to try to keep warm. He had not a clue where he was, nor how he came to be in such a place. All he could see, for as far as the eye could reach, was nothingness.
"H-Hello?"
He called into the void with a meek voice, his teeth chattering while he spoke. There came the sound of footsteps as he began to tread forward on the invisible plane, sans a destination in mind.
"I-Is anyone t-there?"
"H-Hello?"
"Anyone?"
"My Son…"
It was his father's voice, calling to him from every which way. Ander spun around on his heels, trying to discern where the call sourced from, but to no avail. It had been so long since he heard that voice. The pain he had endured, the suffering he had undergone. So much had been lost in the time he spent sojourning. The call brought him to tears at once, the drops streaming down his face to fall to the ground, freezing in flight.
"My child…"
Another voice rang out, this one belonging to his mother. Memories flashed through his mind, pleasant thoughts of days long gone to the past. He shook, not just from the cold, but from the emotion swelling within him too.
"My love…"
"Nina!" He called to his lost love, tears streaking down his pale face. In the far distance, meshed with the void, he could see the outline of three figures, blended with the shadows around them. The boy was swift to notice then and was off in their direction at once. But they never grew nearer, seeming always so close, but just out of reach. A poor footstep made him fall to the ground, his head facing the dark plane below.
"Ander…"
His family stood before him, draped in greyscale, yet just as wonderous as they were in his memories. Ander pushed himself onto his knees, holding his body up with his arms as he gazed into their lost faces. Words tried to form on his tongue, but they never arrived at the phantom's ears. Rather, they were the ones to speak.
"We have nothing left to give…"
His father approached him, kneeling down to place his hands around the boy's head. Tears made it hard for him to see his parents clearly, yet the resolution in his father's eyes was not at all lost to him.
"It is up to you…"
His mother joined his father's side, placing a hand on the last Idris' left shoulder. Her other hand took up his left palm, tenderly holding the scars burned into his skin.
"To keep us alive… To live on, even when all else is lost…"
Nina kneeled before him, holding his right hand with both of hers. He had no words, no words at all for the apparitions of the void.
His father released his head and reached into his coat to pull out a small bundle of cloth. There appeared a faded cloth wrapping housing a long, thin object. When it was unveiled, the fabric fell to the ground, sinking into the void as its contents were revealed. His father bore him Nina's knife, the very same he had used to slay death incarnate. Its hilt was held out to him, which he took with his right hand.
"We are what drives this blade, my son…"
"We live on, only in you. All of us who have been lost to the cold…"
"Yet with your love, we will never be truly gone…"
"Go, my son." His father leaned down to kiss his forehead, brushing his bangs behind his ear. Ander held the knife close to his chest, gripping its hilt with all of his strength. "There is much for you to do… Never forget what drives you…"
"I-I," he stuttered, overcome by the moment. As the apparitions began to fade into the void, he reached out to them, calling to those lost to the cold.
"I'm not ready! Y-You can't leave me so soon!!"
The figures continued to fade, their faces holding out last in the barren void. The boy cried out to the shadows, begging them not to leave. Why would they come to him, just to leave him alone again? In the fading shadows, he heard one final call.
"Althi harv ni klee lurr ess; urv paa ce syon."
Then, there was silence. Sensation was lost to the boy as he tumbled through the void, and eventually, so did the abyss fade away.
"*Whistle*...*Tew* *Tew* *Whistle*"
Ander's eyes fluttered in the morning light, blinking away the remains of his slumber from his sight. The world he found himself in was a vibrant contrast from the dream he was captive to not a moment prior. For one, he was warm. Around his body, there was wrapped a heavy woolen sheet, with white candles and lanterns lit around the chamber he roomed in. It was a small, stone room, with wooden outlines placed about the structure, acting as support and trim to the greater whole. There he layed, stationed beside a thin window, which was opened just a crack to allow ventilation for the heating elements of the room. Behind the murky glass of the window, there perched a beautiful white cardinal, with outlines of red painted throughout its feathers. It was busy composing a song for its aerial audience, using his window sill as a podium to address the other birds of the wood.
His hair, having grown long during his exile, was laid across his face, blocking some of his vision. An arm was levied to brush it aside, but he failed to do so as a sharp pain rang out from within his shoulder. It was then he noticed he lacked a shirt, and all along his torso and arms there were wrapped bandages, specifically around his shoulder and chest. As he noticed this, the sensation of his wounds hit him, making him cringe in pain. It was all coming back to him now. The bear. The journey. His arrival at the thieves' hideout. And his subsequent succumbing to sleep.
"That must be where I am," he whispered, unsure of whether he could speak in a tone louder than a bare whisper. Among the pains of his wounds, there was also his starvation, and now raging thirst, much more prevalent than when he was last awake.
"Hello?..." He called out, attempting to sit up, only to fall back against the mattress. The movement spooked the white cardinal, who took off from his window sill into the air. Cold crept through the window, but not enough to affect him. The outside environment was still strewn with snow brought about by the snowfall he had walked through.
"Helloooo?..."
"He's awake!"
There sounded a voice from the other side of the stone walls, creeping through the cracks of the wooden door. Scuffling could be heard as voices communed outside the room.
"About time he's up."
"He's been sleeping for over a day, I had half a mind to assume he was gone."
"I'll bring him some stew, I'm not sure what he's able to eat considering the state he's in."
"If food is what ends up killing him, I'll eat my own arrows!"
The handle to his chamber began to turn before the door swung open entirely. Behind its veil stood the magii girl, holding in her hand a small steaming cup of soup, and in her other, a glass of water. She entered the room and closed the door with her foot, before approaching the bed. Again, Ander tried to sit up to address the woman, for whom he only knew her name. Yet his body forbade it, making him groan in pain as he reeled back.
"If it hurts to move," Bella spoke as she placed the items she carried on the nightstand beside his bed. "Then don't move."
Ander gave no reply as he turned onto his back, staring up at the plaster ceiling above. Whoever these thieves were, they sure had a sturdy place to call home. Memories of him passing by a storehouse and stable during his night in the woods rose from the back of his mind. It was an expansive lot, far larger than required for the half dozen outlaws residing in its halls. He had a great many inquiries, but whether he wanted to ask them was the real question.
"Here, let me sit you up."
"I need no help."
"Be quiet and let me help you."
Her tone grew fierce, and with great reluctance, Ander let her prop him up on the headboard of the bed. She placed a pillow on his lap, and overtop of it a small wooden table with folding legs sourced from beneath the bedframe. Making sure it was fashioned right, she placed the bowl of stew before him, along with a small metal spoon for him to dine with.
"Eat," she said the word as if she were commanding it, sitting herself down on the edge of the mattress. He sent her a cautious glare but eventually yielded. Taking the spoon in his hand, he began consuming the stew rapidly, not caring for the soreness brought on by the use of his arm.
"Do you like it?" Bella asked, smiling. For a thief, it was an uncharacteristic look, but it fit her. She brushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear as she waited for a response, unsure of whether the boy heard her over his rabid consumption of the stew.
"Did you hear me?"
"Ish gwood," he said through a mouthful of food. The meat was one he wasn't acquainted with, but it was tasty nonetheless; hunger was the world's greatest seasoning after all.
"It's bear stew. I don't often get the chance to work with bear meat. Thanks for that."
He paused, looking down at the bowl. He hadn't realized it, but for the first time since the closing of the poorhouses, he was eating something warm. It filled his stomach with a euphoric feeling, spreading through his body like fire in a forest. It only made him quicken his pace, not caring what the older woman thought of his manners.
"...You're welcome…"
"Did you enjoy your rest?" She resumed her questioning, unsure of whether to be put off by his eating or to be prideful at how much he was enjoying it. "You slept through yesterday. A whole day. Did you know that?"
"...So I did…"
The conversation was dreadfully slow, with every passing second chipping away at Bella's patience.
"Have you nothing to ask me?... Have you nothing to say?"
Ander paused his eating, swallowed his food, and then slowly turned his gaze over toward the red-headed girl.
"...I am eating…"
"I can see that," Bella's voice bore great annoyance as she sighed, leaning away from the boy to let him resume his meal. It took no longer than a minute for the bowl to be drained, with all of its contents being put to work on rebuilding the young man's slender frame. Despite the attitude he was showing, she made sure to set it aside given his state. There were surely untold hoards of troubles belonging to the strange boy, and whatever front he may have been putting up, it was likley just his way of protecting himself. When he reclined back against the headboard of the bed, she spoke again.
"Are you still hungry?" She asked.
He gave her no verbal reply, but his head did nod in response.
"Great, there's plenty left," she moved closer, taking the bowl in her hands. Instead of standing up to retrieve more, she placed the ceramic on the ground and eyed him with a sharp glance. "And I'll get you more, so long as you talk."
"What do you want to know?" He looked down at the small table before him, not willing to look the woman in the eye.
"How about we start with your name?"
"My name…?" His eyes found comfort in staring out the window, having caught a glimpse of the white and red feathers of a flying cardinal. "My name's Ander."
"Do you have a surname, Ander?"
"...Idris…"
"See, that wasn't too hard," she tapped his elbow, but it elicited no response. "Well, Ander, my name's Bella, it's nice to meet you."
"..."
"Okay, okay. Ander, would you mind telling me where you're from? Are you local?"
The silence went on, but she did receive a response. Instead of speaking, Ander raised his left hand, despite the pain, and pointed it at his skin just above his right elbow. There lay the crest of Sylrel, burned eternal in his flesh
"Oh gods…" It was exactly what she was afraid of. The night he had staggered to their door, Leon had taken up the responsibility of washing the boy and dressing his wounds, along with her aid in the application of the bandages. The moment they laid eyes on the marks adorning his skin, their entire perception of who the boy had been changed. It was no ordinary homeless who had made it through their woodland trial. There was no definitive way to be sure of it, but with the crest printed on his skin, it was clear who he was: a survivor of the cursed city.
"Are these tattoos?" She reached a hand out to touch the marks but stopped just an inch before them.
"...They're burns…"
"I see."
What else could she say to him? She, as well as the rest of the gang, had all been poor at one point. They had all endured suffering, be it from the orphanage or from deep in the gutter. She had little knowledge regarding Sylrel and its destruction, but what little she knew of it was devastating, even for someone who had no ties to the lost village at all. Buried in his soul were the memories of a lost home and, seeing as he was alone in the alley where they found him, a lost family.
"I'll go fetch some more soup," without a word to follow up his revelation, she took the empty bowl in her hands and stood up, casting a doleful look down on his frail form. It was hard to see past the blonde hair spilling over his face, but she swore she saw a small smile grow on his lips, only to fade back into his stoic front. Her lips were pursed to speak, but she never did, opting to turn back towards the door to her right. Ander still had the water at his side, but just to be sure, she called back, "Anything else you'd like me to get you?"
"..."
"...My knife… Where's my knife?"
"It's in the basket beside the nightstand, as with everything else you had."
"...Thank you…"
The words were spoken with true reverence, a far cry from his original indifferent tone. With a smile, she levied open the door and slipped back into the hallway leading to the den. Down the length of the corridor she paced to enter into the stronghold's main room. Before her, the eager ears of the group sat, ready to absorb whatever information she had acquired.
"Well?" It was Sylas who spoke first, leaning forward in his chair beside the hearth. "Is it true?"
"Is the boy from Sylrel?"
"He is," she spoke softly, her eyes closed.
"Hmm, that adds a whole new layer of complexity to this," Came Leon from his seat beside Thaddeus. "We couldn't be sure just off the tattoos…"
"They aren't tattoos. They're burns."
"Burns?" A layer of concern spread across the swordsman's face, erasing the furrow from his brow. "How'd that come about?"
"I never asked," she replied. "I felt no need to. He's in no condition to talk, that's for certain."
"Did you happen to get a name?"
"He goes by Ander, although it may be a false one. Just a thought."
"The validity of his name isn't what we should be worried about," Sylas course-corrected the conversation. "A homeless boy from Sylrel, *sigh*, who knows what he's been through. When did that happen, roughly?"
"Six months ago was the earliest I caught word of it," Nallia replied. Being of the fabled Nyx, there was little her ears didn't hear. "It could be longer, though."
"Bella, how closed off was he? You said he was in no state to talk, right?"
"That he isn't," she shook her head. "He was slow to respond, and when he did, he was quite distant."
"That's to be expected, though," Thaddeus thought himself right to chime in. "If he's coming in off the street, and a harsh winter moreover, I'd imagine he would be quite distant. He's had no easy time in the snow, that's for certain. If I were him, I wouldn't be all that open to damn near anyone, even if they did take me in. It's a harsh world, and he's just come out of it."
"You're quite right," Sylas spoke. "That's what worries me. It changes a person, sometimes irreparably. What're the odds he never comes around, especially to a gang of thieves who, not a few days ago, tried to leave him for dead in the middle of a forest."
"If he bore resentment against us, he wouldn't have come back," Leon thought aloud. "That, or he simply pushed it down to have a chance at survival. One can't be sure with such little to go on."
"Whatever grievances he has against us, he will have to put them aside. We should focus on getting him back to good health, and by then, he may be more willing to speak to us."
"And if not? Are we so keen on wasting resources on someone who may be a liability?"
"Is that how you see this?" Leon spoke with a strong tone to his leader, who scowled at the swordsman. "Setting aside who we are, he did what we asked of him. With whatever honor we have, should we not at least help him?"
"And what if helping him puts us at risk as well?" Sylas shot back. "Say he gets some strength back. What would we be able to do if he were to run off one day and spill to the authorities where the stronghold is?"
"I didn't."
The whole room looked over at Damien, who was sitting beside Nallia on the aged couch opposite the hearth. "I went through the same trial he did, and despite you all leaving me in the same spot, I found myself willing to join you."
"As did I," Nallia added. "And that was before our strapping young archer joined."
"Quiet woman."
"If it weren't for the boy sitting in our guest room, I'd say we were due for an ethics revision," Leon said to no one in particular.
"I suppose you aren't wrong, Damien," Sylas mulled over the archer's testament. "I guess keeping an eye on him for a while is the only precaution we would need… That does raise my second question. Who's he to take up under?"
"I have my hands full already with that one," Thaddeus threw a finger in Damien's direction, who sank lower into his seat, poisoned by the unjust persecution. "It's really between you three, isn't it?"
The three adults in the room, Bella, Sylas, and Leon, all sent looks in one another's directions. Being the core four of the brigade, they were the ones best fit to take up an apprentice.
"I'm in no state to train a magii, not that we need a second," Bella removed herself from the lot, leaving Leon and Sylas the remaining choices. "I've still got plenty of mastery ahead of me."
"To be frank, an apprentice wouldn't be that bad…"
"Sylas," Leon leaned forward, staring his leader in the eyes.
"And based on his frame, single-handed weapons may be a better fit for him…"
"Let me train him, please."
"Oh, is that eagerness I hear in your voice?" Sylas grinned, crossing his legs. "And why are you so ready to pick up an apprentice?"
"You're our leader, you have responsibilities beyond ours," Leon began. "I'd be best equipped to take on the extra burden. Besides, let's be honest, Sylas, you're not the greatest when it comes to patience."
"And here I thought you were about to rain praises on me!"
"I implore you, I want this. Having a student would only make me a better swordsman."
"But do we need another swordsman?" Thaddeus asked. "Sylas uses long hatchets, you use a longsword. We're not soldiers, we're thieves, lighter armaments are preferable in our line of work."
"I carry a sword not because it's easy, but because it's my honor to do so. If need be, he can carry a lighter blade. I may be a thief, but I follow a path paved with pride, not in myself, but in my mastery of my craft. There's much you can learn from a sword. A blade will temper you far greater than you can ever sharpen it."
"I don't need platitudes, Leon, I need effectiveness. I need him to be valuable."
"Then value you will get," the swordsman sent his leader a stoic look. "Please… Let me teach the boy."
"If you so dearly wish to teach him, then he's all yours, Leon. So long as he makes use of himself."
"All of this talk leans on the idea that he'll come around to us," Bella said with a sigh, slowly approaching the hallway to the kitchen where the stew was stored. "I have faith in him, as anyone else would, with pity. But there's no telling what the world's done to him… To have wandered all the way from Sylrel to Vimbaultir, he must have been cast out from places along the way, that's for certain."
"Leave those who cry omen to their omens, and those who curse to their curses, it doesn't matter here," Sylas said. "Whatever burdens he carries, it'd be smart not to leave him with them for long. He should be kept busy, to whatever capacity he can."
"Based on the piles of bear meat in our storage, I'd say that capacity is quite high," Thaddeus scoffed.
"So it may be. Leon, when Bella feels him ready to learn, you can teach him."
"That I will," Leon nodded his head, sending thanks in Sylas' direction.
"Until then," Sylas stood up, patting down his pelt coat. "Bella, if there's anything else he lets out, be sure to let us know."
"That I will," she replied as she paced towards the kitchen. "Let's just hope there is anything else…"