Before the bewilderment of his current situation could fully settle, Daglan found himself swept up in a whirlwind of activity. The members of the Wandering Menagerie Circus moved with mesmerizing efficiency, systematically dismantling their fantastical world.
Daglan couldn't help but watch in awe as the once-imposing tents collapsed into neat bundles, colorful banners rolled up with practiced precision, and mysterious contraptions vanished into ornate crates. It was as if an entire realm was being packed away, leaving behind only whispers of its former glory.
The circus folk worked with an almost inhuman synchronicity, their movements fluid and purposeful. Each person seemed to know their role perfectly, contributing to the seamless operation with an expertise that spoke of countless repetitions.
"So, what's your name?"
Kento's excited voice cut through Daglan's reverie, snapping him back to the present. He blinked, tearing his gaze away from the organized chaos around them. "Uh... my name is Daglan," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Where... where are we exactly?"
Kento's grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I told you, The Wandering Menagerie Circus!"
Daglan shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. "No, I mean... we're still in Shodun, right?" He glanced around at the otherworldly sights surrounding them, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach. Kento's brow furrowed, his nimble fingers still absently juggling the ornate daggers.
"Hmm, I don't think this place is marked on the map," he mused, staring at the sky thoughtfully.
The words hit Daglan like a physical blow, his stomach plummeting. The possibility of being completely lost, in a place beyond his comprehension, threatened to overwhelm him.
"I think they call it Shim Village?" he added, almost as an afterthought. Daglan's eyes widened as realization dawned. Shim Village – the name stirred a memory. It was only a few days' journey from Graybarrow. Far from being lost, he had actually made progress on his quest.
"How..." Daglan's voice cracked, his throat dry from disuse. He swallowed hard and tried again. "How did I get here?"
Kento's cheerful demeanor sobered slightly, his nimble fingers stilling the ornate daggers he'd been juggling. "We found you in the wastes," he said, his voice tinged with concern. "You were in pretty bad shape – looked like you were knocking on death's door. You've been out cold for nearly a week."
The words hit Daglan like a physical blow. He stumbled backward, his legs suddenly unsteady. "A week?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with panic. "I... I'm grateful, truly. But I have to go. Now."
"I don't believe you'll be scampering off just yet, my young friend," a smooth, cultured voice interjected. The words carried an undercurrent of authority that made the hairs on the back of Daglan's neck stand up.
Daglan spun around, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. He found himself once again face-to-face with the enigmatic ringmaster, Vega. Daglan couldn't suppress a shiver at the intensity of those piercing red eyes.
"Mr. Vega!" Kento's voice rang out, a mixture of surprise and admiration. "I didn't hear you approach. Are we ready to depart?"
Vega nodded, his gaze never leaving Daglan. "Indeed. Run along and inform Ingrid, would you?" He patted Kento's arm, a clear dismissal.
As Kento scampered off, Vega turned his full attention to Daglan. His eyes seemed to peer into the boy's very soul. "As for you, spirited young Daglan," Vega continued, his voice a mix of gravel and honey, "you're in no shape for lone wandering. The measly morsels we've nudged down your sleeping gullet won't cut it. Besides," a hint of concern crept into his tone, "a sapling like yourself shouldn't be roaming about unattended, come what may."
Daglan bristled at being called a child, but before he could retort, Vega continued. "I couldn't help but notice your keen eye during our little show earlier. The way you watched that scuffle... those moves weren't all jumble to you, were they?"
Daglan nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Yes," he managed. "The man who raised me – he taught me Lechi Martial Arts."
"Well, isn't that something," Vega mused, eyes twinkling like old stars. "A rare bird of a fighting style, that. Who was this remarkable teacher of yours?"
"Koshu," Daglan said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Koshu the Worldbreaker."
A flash of recognition crossed Vega's face. "An Ascendant, you say! I trust that term rings a bell?"
Daglan's eyes lit up, a fire kindling within them. "Yeah," he said, his voice gaining strength. "World-famous. People in the history books." He stood a little straighter, his chin jutting out defiantly. "I'll be an Ascendant one day."
"Ah, now it all falls into place! No wonder our Kento took a shine to you," Vega chuckled, a mischievous lilt in his voice. "Tell me, young Daglan, where are you bound?"
"The capital," Daglan replied, his tone suddenly cold and determined. Vega studied him for a long moment, then nodded as if coming to a decision.
"Here's a thought for you," Vega proposed, leaning in conspiratorially. "Why not throw your lot in with our merry band? We're headed northward – not all the way to the big city, mind you, but it's a start. You might pick up a trick or two, and more importantly," his tone grew dramatically serious, "you won't be keeling over from thirst or hunger along the way."
Vega's toothy grin sent a shiver down Daglan's spine, but there was something undeniably captivating about the strange little man. Despite his initial wariness, Daglan found himself wanting to trust him.
After a moment of internal struggle, Daglan relented. "Alright," he said slowly. "I'll travel with you. It... it would be nice to learn more about that glowing technique I saw earlier." His mind flashed back to Koshu, a pang of grief twisting in his chest.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" Vega exclaimed, his enthusiasm filling the air. Before Daglan could react, the ringmaster had wrapped him in a surprisingly strong embrace, spinning him around. "Allow me to introduce you to our motley crew!" he declared. Vega led Daglan through the bustling activity of the small troupe, his red eyes gleaming with pride. Their first stop was near a wagon that seemed impossibly small for its intended cargo.
"Ah, Goliath!" Vega called out, his voice carrying an authority that belied his small stature. "Come meet our new traveler!"
Daglan's jaw dropped as the mountain of a man he'd encountered earlier lumbered into view. Goliath's massive hands easily hefted entire tents, folding them as if they were mere handkerchiefs. Crates that would require a team of oxen to move were tossed onto the wagon with casual ease.
"This is Goliath, our doorman and ticketmaster," Vega explained, a hint of amusement in his voice at Daglan's wide-eyed wonder. "Say hello, Goliath!"
The giant's face split into a gentle, almost childlike smile. He lowered one enormous hand, extending a single finger towards Daglan. The boy hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his entire hand barely managing to wrap around Goliath's fingertip. The contrast was staggering – Daglan's sun-weathered, calloused hand against skin that felt like warm, living stone.
"And of course, you've already seen Orlok in action," Vega continued, gesturing towards the pale man from the performance.
Orlok approached with fluid grace, his movements so smooth he seemed to glide rather than walk. He fixed Daglan with an intense gaze, eyes still smoldering like embers, before sweeping into a deep, formal bow.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young one," Orlok intoned, his voice rich and cultured. He took Daglan's hand in both of his own, his skin cool to the touch. "I trust our performance was... illuminating?"
Daglan nodded, momentarily at a loss for words. The raw power he'd witnessed on stage was now contained, coiled just beneath Orlok's polite exterior. It was both thrilling and terrifying to be so close to such skill.
"And I am Motis!" A booming voice rang out, followed by a resounding thump as the Serkan man clapped Orlok on the back. The pale man barely flinched, a testament to his supernatural strength.
Motis turned his attention to Daglan, his green skin gleaming under the fading light. Those reptilian eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, bored into Daglan's own. The boy felt an instinctive urge to look away, but something – fear, respect, or sheer fascination – kept his gaze locked.
"So, you liked the performance?" Motis asked, his voice a strange mix of gruff and jovial.
Daglan swallowed hard, finding his voice. "Y-yes. You use Lechi?" he managed to stammer, recalling the familiar glow he'd witnessed during the fight.
Motis's brow furrowed, confusion replacing his grin. "Lechi?" he echoed, giving Daglan a puzzled look. "Never heard of it, kid."
Emboldened by the Serkan's apparent interest, Daglan pressed on. "The fighting style you used, the way you moved like you knew what was going to happen."
Understanding dawned on Motis's face. "Oh!" he exclaimed, his sharp-toothed grin returning. "I actually learned that from an old friend, Lucio. I connect my energy to things so I can see through them."
Daglan's eyes widened. The description sounded remarkably similar to a fundamental aspect of Lechi. "The rooted style of Lechi is all about connecting yourself to your surroundings, becoming one with it," he explained, his voice gaining strength as excitement overrode his initial nervousness.
Motis leaned in closer, his reptilian eyes glinting with newfound curiosity. "Really?!" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine fascination. "Why don't we train together sometime? Perhaps this 'Lechi' is somehow derived from us Serkans."
The offer sent a thrill through Daglan. Here was an opportunity to not only learn new techniques, but potentially uncover the origins of the fighting style Koshu had taught him. It was a chance to grow stronger, to take another step towards his goals of ascendant-ship, finding Rozeree, and getting revenge for his loved ones.
"I'd like that," Daglan replied, a determined smile spreading across his face.
"Well now, it seems we have finished packing up. Daglan why dont you go and meet with Kento and Ingrid, you can sit with them. You should find them right over there." Vega pointed towards a small wagon adorned with two flickering torches, pulled by a large black horse with metic legs.
As Daglan approached, he could make out Kento's bright white hair. Beside him sat a girl with fiery red hair cascading down her back, wearing a purple sequined dress that caught the torchlight. As her face came into view, Daglan's heart skipped a beat in a way he had never felt before. Heat flared in his cheeks, and his stomach began doing somersaults. Confusion wracked his mind as these new sensations washed over him, leaving him wondering if it was just exhaustion catching up to him.
"Over here Daglan!" Kento said excitedly as he pat the spot opposite him and the girl, to which he complied. "This is Ingrid, she's Azrael's partner."
Ingrid had bright blue eyes and pale skin that sent shivers down his spine. Daglan awkwardly offered his hand to which she promptly shook. Her skin was soft and warm, sending another wave of heat wafting into his face, he tried to say something but as he stared into her eyes his mind seemed to halt working.
"Hi…uh… I'm Daglan." He stammered as if learning to speak for the first time. The carriage lurched forward without warning, sending Daglan stumbling. His foot caught on the edge of his seat, and he pitched forward, nearly colliding with Ingrid. He caught himself at the last second, face burning hotter than before, as Kento's quiet snicker turned into full-blown laughter.
"Careful there," Kento said, extending his thin hand to steady Daglan. His white hair gleamed in the torchlight as he leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "So, where're you from? Don't usually find kids wandering the wastes alone."
Daglan forced himself to look anywhere but at Ingrid, his fingers drumming against his knee. "Small town called Graybarrow." He struggled to keep his voice steady. "Probably never heard of it."
"Why were you out there?" Ingrid asked softly. The sound of her voice sent another wave of warmth through him.
"I'm—" Daglan paused, his grey eyes darkening as reality crashed back. "I'm tracking someone. Two people, actually. This man, he took my sister. Rozeree." His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. The earlier butterflies in his stomach turned to lead.
"Hey." Ingrid touched his arm gently. "Loss is what brought most of us here. The circus, it becomes our new family."
"Do you have any other family left?" Kento blurted. At Ingrid's sharp look, he shrank back, tugging at his hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"
A weak smile played on Daglan's lips. Their bickering reminded him of home, of Silvas scolding Koshu. "It's fine. My birth parents died when I was little. Got adopted, but..." He shrugged, trying to seem casual even as his chest tightened. "They're gone too. All I have left is my sister, and I'm going to find her."
A heavy silence filled the wagon after Daglan's words about his lost family. The gentle sway of their transport and the rhythmic clinking of the horse's metallic hooves only emphasized the weight of his confession.
Kento leaned forward, his white hair catching the torchlight. "Your sister - Rozeree, right? What is she like?"
Daglan's expression softened, though pain lingered in his eyes. "We were inseparable once. Did everything together." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We always talked about becoming Ascendants, traveling to every corner of the globe. Meeting kings and powerful fighters, spreading our names across the land."
"Ascendants?" Ingrid's eyes widened. "That's... ambitious."
"Yeah." Daglan's smile faded. "But being stuck in Graybarrow, it changed her. She grew... bitter. Angry." He swallowed hard. "I thought if I worked harder at my training, if I could become stronger, maybe..."
"Maybe what?" Kento prompted gently when Daglan trailed off.
"Maybe it would be enough. That we could leave together, find our own path." His hands clenched in his lap. "Instead, she left with him. With Vilrux."
Ingrid's hand found his, her touch gentle but grounding. "Tell us what happened."
Daglan took a shaky breath. "I didn't see it all, I was..." His voice grew hollow. "Then they came. Vilrux and his people. Everything happened so fast."
Kento had gone still, his ever-present daggers motionless in his lap. Even the wagon seemed to grow quieter, as if the night itself was listening.
"She just... left?" Kento asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
"Not before Vilrux..." Daglan's jaw tightened. "Silvas, she tried to stop them. To protect us. And he..." The words seemed to stick in his throat.
Ingrid squeezed his hand. "You don't have to-"
"She watched." The words burst from Daglan like they'd been torn from him. "As Vilrux killed her. She just stood there, like... like it didn't even matter to her."
The silence that followed was deafening. Kento's energetic demeanor had vanished, replaced by a solemn understanding. Ingrid's blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Finally, Kento spoke, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "What will you do when you find her?"
"I..." Daglan faltered. The question he'd been avoiding since then hung heavy in the air. "I don't know. The sister I knew - the one who dreamed of adventure and glory - she's gone. But..." He looked between his new friends, vulnerability raw in his expression. "She's still my sister."
"Family's complicated," Ingrid said softly. "Sometimes the people we love change in ways we don't understand."
Kento nodded. "But that doesn't mean we stop loving them."
A tear slid down Daglan's cheek, quickly wiped away. "I just want to understand. Why she changed, why she left. And maybe..." He took a steadying breath. "Maybe find a way to bring her back. Not to Graybarrow, but to herself."
The wagon hit a bump, briefly jostling them. As they settled, Kento reached out, gripping Daglan's shoulder. "Well, you're not alone anymore. Whatever happens when we find her, we'll face it together."
"He's right," Ingrid added. "The circus, we look out for our own. And like it or not, you're one of us now."
"But..." Daglan glanced between them, confusion and hope warring on his face. "You barely know me."
Kento snorted, some of his usual energy returning. "Know you? We've been sharing a wagon for hours! That practically makes us siblings." His expression softened. "Besides, I know what it's like to lose family."
"Me too," Ingrid added quietly. She hesitated, then continued, "My parents... they weren't taken. They gave me up." Her blue eyes shimmered in the torchlight. "They thought the circus would give me a better life than they could."
"Were they right?" Daglan asked, his own pain momentarily forgotten in the face of her revelation.
A small, sad smile curved Ingrid's lips. "The circus is my home now. Vega became like a father to me. And Kento..." She glanced at the white-haired boy. "Well, he's the annoying brother I never asked for."
"Hey!" Kento protested, but he was grinning.
Despite everything, Daglan found himself smiling too. The ache in his chest was still there, but somehow it felt lighter, shared between the three of them.
"So," Kento said, leaning back and resuming his knife juggling, "what's the plan? You can't just wander around looking for this Vilrux guy right? That'd take way to long."
"I..." Daglan faltered. "I hadn't really thought about it."
"Good thing you've got us then," Kento declared. "I'm great at plans!"
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you ended up stuck on the big top last week?"
"That was intentional! I was practicing my high-wire act."
"Without a wire?"
As his new friends bickered, Daglan felt something shift inside him. The lonely path he'd been walking suddenly didn't seem so solitary anymore. The weight of his mission remained, but now he had shoulders to help bear it.
He cleared his throat, interrupting their playful argument. "Thank you," he said simply, hoping they could hear everything he couldn't find words for.
Kento draped an arm around his shoulders. "That's what family's for, right?"
"Right," Daglan echoed, the word feeling both foreign and right on his tongue.
The wagon hit another bump, jostling them again. Kento nearly dropped one of his daggers, causing Ingrid to roll her eyes and Daglan to laugh. As they settled back down, Daglan found himself talking more freely about his life in Graybarrow - about Silvas's strict but fair training, about Koshu's legendary cooking, about lazy summer days spent playinng with Rozeree.
In return, Kento regaled him with tales of circus mishaps and triumphs, each story punctuated by Ingrid's corrections and additions. The night deepened around them, but in their small, torch-lit wagon, a new kind of warmth bloomed.