Pre-Dawn
Sater's Day
22nd of Avril, Year 824 of the Silent Age
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PROJO'S QUEST LOG:
+ [ACTIVE] Charting the Teeth: Meet Master Corvus at The Chart & Compass for a bodyguard contract.
+ [ONGOING] Understanding the Curse: Work with Falira to uncover the nature of your powers.
+ Repay Bram (Owe 24 Gold)
+ Return to Mira
PROJO'S INVENTORY:
+ Money: 15 Gold, 10 Silver, 47 Copper
- (Previous: 15G 13S 52C - 2S for Kingsfoil, -1S for Bath, -5C for Fish)
+ Weapons: Iron Longsword, Gideon's Iron Dagger
+ Armor: Crude Leather Cuirass
+ Supplies:
- 1 Day's Worth of Trail Rations
- Flint & Steel
----
The pre-dawn chill was a damp, creeping thing that seeped through the tower walls. Projo awoke from a restless sleep, his body aching from the previous day's workout. The first thing he saw was Falira, already dressed and standing by the workbench, shouldering her crossbow. She had a fresh, tightly-wrapped bandage on her side, and her face was pale in the dim light of a single glowing crystal, but her expression was one of stubborn resolve. She had been waiting for him.
They ate in silence, chewing on the last of the hard bread and dried meat from her stores. Projo watched her out of the corner of his eye.
Her movements were stiff, jaw set tight against a pain she refused to acknowledge. Every time she shifted her weight, a small, sharp intake of breath betrayed her.
"Ready?" he asked as he strapped on his sword belt.
"I am," she replied, her voice clipped and professional. She checked the crossbow one last time. "The objective is clear. Let us proceed."
The descent down the winding stone steps was a slow, agonizing process. Falira moved with a pained slowness, but she never stumbled, and never asked to stop. He kept his pace matched to hers, an unspoken concession to the reality of her wound.
They reached The Chart & Compass as the first grey light began to bleed into the eastern sky. The inn was quiet, the air smelling of old paper and sea salt. Master Corvus was exactly where he had left him, a fresh pot of ink at his elbow, making a final annotation on a large scroll. He looked up as they entered, his hawkish eyes landing first on Projo, then shifting with mild surprise to Falira.
"I hired one guard," Corvus stated crisply.
Before Projo could speak, Falira stepped forward. "I am Falira, a research assistant," she said, her tone all academic authority. "My work involves documenting the unique coastal flora of the Serpent's Teeth. I will be providing ancillary support and will not interfere with your primary objective."
Corvus studied her for a long moment, his gaze taking in her scholarly robes and the heavy crossbow on her shoulder.
"Mouth like a thesaurus, this one," he shrugged, glancing briefly at Projo. "As you wish. So long as you do not get in my way or cost me coin." He stood, rolling up his scroll. "The light is coming. Let's move."
Projo met Falira's gaze as Corvus strode out, seeing the flicker of pained triumph in her eyes. She was determined to not be a liability—she was a collaborator. Projo gave her the smallest nod, then followed the map maker out into the dawn, the strange, stubborn researcher limping silently at his side.
----
The path north of Shattercoast was less a road and more a scar on the face of the cliff. The air was cold and sharp with the taste of salt, and the constant, deafening roar of waves crashing against the jagged rocks below was their only companion. Master Corvus moved with a brisk, sure-footed pace, as if the rocks themselves were mapped in his mind.
Projo walked a few paces behind him, his senses on high alert. He scanned the crumbling cliff face above for loose rocks and watched the churning, grey-green sea below for any sign of movement that wasn't just the tide.
Falira limped just behind him, her face pale, jaw clenched—each stab of pain met with silence.
After an hour of grueling travel, Corvus stopped. They had reached a wide, exposed promontory of rock that jutted out over the sea, offering a panoramic and terrifying view of the Serpent's Teeth. It was a chaotic maze of sharp, black sea stacks that tore at the waves, sending plumes of white spray high into the air.
"Here," Corvus announced, already unrolling a large, waterproofed scroll on a flat-topped boulder. "The tidal variance is at its peak. We can get the most accurate readings."
He began setting up a series of strange brass instruments—a complex astrolabe, a long sighting scope, and a device that looked like a brass spider with a crystal in its center. "Keep your eyes open, Smith. The gulls have a nasty habit of trying to steal my lenses."
Projo simply said, "Mm," in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping the area. He saw Falira lean heavily against a rock, her breathing shallow, her cover story of studying flora forgotten in the face of her body's protest. She met his gaze for a second, a flicker of pained frustration in her eyes, before she pushed herself upright and began methodically examining a patch of sea-blasted lichen on a nearby stone.
They'd been there not five minutes when a piercing shriek cut through the roar of the sea—but it wasn't a gull.
Projo's head snapped up.
Three shapes detached themselves from the high cliffs, diving toward them with incredible speed. They were lean, reptilian creatures with leathery wings and long, serrated beaks filled with needle-like teeth. They moved like arrows, their shrieks echoing off the rocks.
"Cliff drakes!" Falira yelled, her voice sharp with alarm as she fumbled to raise her crossbow.
Corvus yelped, dropping a delicate brass lens and scrambling back from his instruments. The lead drake was diving straight for him.
Projo surged forward, placing himself between the cartographer and the diving creature. His sword swung in a brutal arc, shearing through its neck. The corpse tumbled across the stone, crashing in a heap on the rocks.
The other two drakes peeled off, circling with angry shrieks. One landed on a high rock, spitting a glob of viscous, acidic saliva that sizzled on the stone a few feet from Corvus's charts. The other dove again, this time at Projo.
He braced himself, raising his sword, but a sharp THWACK cut the air beside him. A crossbow bolt slammed into the diving drake's wing, tearing through the leathery membrane. The creature screeched in pain, its dive turning into an uncontrolled spiral. It crashed onto the ledge, wounded and furious, and scrambled toward him on its talons.
Projo met its charge with a downward chop that split its skull.
He spun around, searching for the last one. It was still perched on the high rock, preparing to spit again.
"Fus!" Falira's voice strained as she cried out the spell, one hand held toward the drake.
Projo saw a flicker of invisible energy slam into the rock just beneath the creature. It was thrown off balance, the acidic spit flying wide and harmlessly out to sea. It shrieked in rage and launched itself into the air.
But it never completed its turn.
Projo was already moving. He scrambled up the rock face in three powerful strides and, as the drake tried to gain altitude, he carved the beast from the sky. It fell screaming into the waves.
Silence returned with the sea's roar. Projo stood on the rock, chest heaving, his sword dripping with dark, foul-smelling blood. He looked back. Corvus was pale and shaking, frantically checking his delicate instruments for damage.
Falira was leaning heavily on her crossbow, one hand clamped to her side. Her face was ashen, and he could see a fresh, dark stain of red seeping through the bandage on her tunic. She had helped, but it had cost her.
"Shit," Projo said, the word swallowed by the wind. He gave the cliffs and the sky one last scan, but no other threats were visible.
He closed the distance between them, stopping just short of touch. "How bad is the bleeding?"
Falira stared at the blood on her hand like a failed equation. "It's a complication," she said through clenched teeth. "The exertion from the casting must have torn the internal sutures from the potion's matrix."
"In the common tongue," Projo pressed, taking another half-step closer. He could see her trembling.
"The bleeding has resumed. It is... being managed."
"Managed? Falira, you're soaking through the bandage."
"Are they gone?" a shaky voice cut in. Master Corvus was on his feet, frantically dabbing at a smear of drake saliva on one of his charts with a silk cloth. "Gods, my chronometer is scratched! Is it safe to continue?"
Falira pushed herself upright. "We are... operationally sufficient." The words were aimed at Corvus, but her defiant gaze was locked on Projo.
His jaw tightened. He had a terrifying, world-altering power in his blood—and it felt useless.
He turned to the cartographer. "Finish your work. We'll watch your back."
He took a position near the edge of the promontory, his back to Corvus, but his attention on Falira. She pretended to examine a patch of lichen again, but her body started swaying slightly. The stain was slowly growing.
Projo let out a heavy sigh and stood. "We need to check the perimeter," he called over to Corvus. Then he grabbed Falira by her uninjured arm—the first time he had initiated contact—and pulled her behind the large boulder where the cartographer couldn't see them.
She stumbled, letting out a sharp gasp of pain and surprise. "What are you doing?!"
"You're bleeding out." He let her go but blocked her path. "Your 'management' isn't working. We both know it."
Her eyes were wide with a mixture of pain and fury. "There is nothing to be done! I cannot focus, and the experiment is too—"
"Forget the experiment!" he cut her off, his voice cracking with a desperate intensity. "This is a new experiment, then. The variable is 'necessity'. I'm not letting you die on this rock because you're scared of a damn data point."
He looked her dead in the eye, his promise hanging between them. "We can stand here while you bleed to death, or we can finally get some real data. But you have to choose. Now." He held out his hand, palm up.
The sea roared as Falira's mind raced. He saw her mind frantically searching for a new framework, a justification that would allow her to yield without shattering her entire worldview.
"The... parameters... have changed," she finally whispered. "The operational stability of the research team... is the overriding priority." It was a clinical reframing of a desperate choice.
Slowly, her hand lifted from her side, hovered for a long moment, then finally pressed against his.
The connection was immediate, but weak. A pale, sickly green light sputtered from their joined hands. He watched as the gushing blood from her wound slowed to a sluggish, steady ooze. The pain in her eyes lessened, but the wound itself didn't stanch.
"It's not closing," she gasped, her knuckles white where she gripped his hand.
Projo felt the weak, unsatisfying pull. It wasn't enough. "With Mira… it took more than just holding hands."
Falira's eyes went wide. "More? What do you mean, more?"
"It has to be a choice," Projo said, his grip firm but not forceful. "It requires intimacy, but you have to choose it, you can't have your emotions walled off." He shook their hands slightly. "This isn't working."
Her terror broke against cold logic and hotter survival. With a choked sound that was half-sob, half-surrender, she let go of her crossbow, letting it clatter to the rock. She seized his tunic and pulled him down.
Their lips met.
It was cold, desperate, clinical—
But it was enough.
The forge inside him roared—he felt the mage's Mana flood into him, a torrent of cool silver that was amplified and sent back out in a blaze. A burst of green-gold light engulfed them for a moment, until he broke the kiss and the light vanished.
Falira looked down, holding her breath, and pulled the bandages aside.
The ragged edges of the spear wound had pulled together, knitting shut into a raw, angry red line. It was sealed, but not erased.
Falira slumped against him, her breathing ragged, eyes wide with a mixture of shock, exhaustion, and a terrifying, triumphant awe.
"Data… noted." Her face was flushed and her voice was a dazed, hollow shell of her usual tone.
As they emerged from the rock, Master Corvus awkwardly asked, "Is the uh... situation resolved?"
----
The rest of the day passed in a tense, windswept silence. Master Corvus, blissfully unaware of the life-and-death magical experiment that had just concluded behind a rock, meticulously took his readings, his brass instruments glinting in the pale sun. Projo stood guard, his body thrumming with a strange, vibrant energy, while Falira sat rigidly by the rock wall, pale and quiet. Her hand never strayed far from the angry red line on her side.
The journey back was slow and quiet. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, and the cliffs were cast in long, deep shadows. Falira's limp was gone, but she moved with wearily, her steps heavy and drained.
"Observation," she said, her voice quiet but clear over the roar of the waves. "Your physical state. Post-transference. How do you feel?"
"Good," Projo answered honestly, glancing at his own hands as they walked. "More than good. I feel... charged. Like I could run all the way back to town."
It was the opposite of the draining weakness he'd felt after the lightning blast, a feeling of being full to the brim with a power that wasn't his own. He looked at his palm. He could still feel a faint, buzzing warmth in it, the ghost of the energy he'd siphoned.
An idea, born of pure curiosity, sparked in his mind.
He focused on that feeling, on the stored power, and tried to will it to the surface, to draw it out not as an uncontrolled explosion, but as something smaller.
He felt a prickling heat gather in the center of his palm.
His eyebrows shot up. A tiny, perfect flame, no bigger than his thumb, hovered an inch above his skin, casting a soft, orange light.
His eyes darted up to Falira, who looked just as astounded.
"That's new."