[Skell]
"Open up!" knuckles rapped rhythmically on the dressing room door. "Lemme get a good look at ya!"
"H-hold on, Soleil!" I urgently thrust my foot through the white leg of my new breeches. No response came, meaning I'd bought myself another half-minute before Soleil's impatience thrust her foot through that door.
I shifted to the full-length mirror ahead. Smiling back at me was the same face as always, though with lighter eyebags than usual. There was another change in my reflection. Gone was the dark leather armors I tackled the Ordeals with. Those bundled on the dressing room bench behind me, scratched, scuffed, and crusted in the days-dried blood of undead. My illusory "blood" included.
So when I heard we'd be escorted to the Citadel armory to receive Templar attire, I basically led the pack. Not that I planned on having a long and storied career with it or anything, but I'd even wear a dress if it got me out of those grubby leathers. It'd also fulfill my sorta-promise to Amara: to wear the same armor as her, next we met.
But beyond the racks of virgin blades, insignia-covered shields, and pristine Templar plate, a steely countertop exhibited our new outfits. Outfits that weren't armor at all.
In fact, they were actually called-
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"Squire garb!" Lucival excitedly presented the neat row of white-red clothes. Everyone crowded around. Some looked disappointed. "You all have likely gathered as much, but this is the official apparel of Squire-rank Templars."
Cirian stroked his chin. "Peculiar… Fabulous though these garments are, I was under the impression that all Templars wore the customary plate."
"Not all," stated Hyland, practically glaring holes into their fabric. "Until you achieve the rank of Knight, you wear this. Squires don't see combat, so they don't see armor either."
"You will see both in time," assured the Lionheart. "For now, I encourage you all to enjoy the garb while it is still permitted attire. Hindsight will make you ache for the days before cumbersome, clunky, utter fortresses of plate."
Lucival popped a joint that echoed through his rose-pink armor before settling into a look of temporary relief. "…But I digress. You are free to choose from the articles before you. Size varies between them. Take your time to find a comfortable fit." He gestured to a wall of dressing rooms at our right. "Once selected, it will belong to you for the next year."
Right. One of those books did say it takes a whole year for Squires to sniff at Knight status - and earn Templar armor too, I guess. Crying shame I won't stick around long enough to wear it.
That said, the clothes under my nose were the next best thing. After spotting the most average-sized of the bunch, I took it under my shoulder, taking another step toward resurrection.
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With a fasten of my belt, I was done. Everything fit perfectly.
"Now to see how it looks…"
As good as it feels, the dressing room's mirror told me. Leather boots met white breeches at my ankle, and both were as effortless to move in as the long-sleeved white undershirt and red vest above them. And about that vest… intricate, authentic gold filigree surrounded its chest, leaving space in the middle for a golden Templar insignia of the lion and eagle.
The rounds I could score from pawning this bad boy off… Then again, where would I find a buyer? I ran white-gloved fingers through my hair, turning around to shamelessly marvel at myself in the mirror. And could any amount make me part with it?
Persistent knuckles knocked away my vanity.
"Skell," called Soleil, "ya got three seconds before I bust inside, butt-naked or not!"
"I'm done, I'm done," I groaned. "Ever heard of a virtue called patience?"
I opened the door to see what should've been a mundane sight: Soleil, wearing the same outfit I did. But it's that mundanity that shook me to my bones.
One thing about Soleil stuck out more than anything: her flashiness. I don't mean behavior - though trust me, that was also true - but appearance. Fingernails and toenails flashed a hot orange. Her midriff was exposed between tops and bottoms so red and yellow they could've been solidified flame.
Now? She was still hot. I-I mean, vibrant. Her flaming mane still torched down her shoulders. But the new garb covered just about every other striking feature.
Features I didn't realize I'd miss 'til they were gone.
_…This might be the last day you ever see her. Soon you'll be off chasing the secret of resurrection. _
Urgh, cut it out, Skell. There's a thousand reasons why that'd never work. Soleil's a decent enough friend. She's got some iffy advice, but she did save your life. Just don't think about her any deeper.
Even if she'll eventually be just a warm memory…
"Why're ya starin' so hard?" Soleil tilted her head, then cracked a crooked half-smile. "Like what ya see?"
"Meh," I quickly jumped to a joke, "I like the garb better on me."
She snickered and shrugged. "They do make ya look less plain - I'll give 'em that."
I couldn't call her wrong. "Average" was exactly what I asked Cynthine to make my glamour. Occasionally I regretted that choice.
My mind diverted all faculties to crafting a witty comeback. Soleil saw as much in my eyes and spoke quicker. "Hey, you're only plain on the outside," she spared me. 'Sides, I figured you'd appreciate some sincerity for once."
The minstrel stepped aside to reveal Lucival, marching down an isle of armors that would've impressed if they weren't outshined by the Judge's rose-gold masterpiece. Someone accompanied him: a well-dressed, lanky man with a curled mustache and plumed hat. We'd seen him before.
After leaving the Château, we found him waiting for us outside. Baudelaire was his name, and apparently, boot-licking was his game.
Removing his hat, he bowed so low I thought he'd knock himself out on his own knees. Turns out, Baudelaire was our assigned escort for the day's events. That explanation shifted breathlessly to a speech about how we were "so talented" for achieving our new positions and "quite comely in our entirety" if he "did say so himself". Then he knelt before Lucival and kissed his gauntlet, doing everything in his power to leave a permanent imprint.
But the brownnosing was just getting started. After passing by the Lionheart - missing the Templar's attempts to wipe his gauntlet - it became scarily clear that we were next.
Lips planted on Ryzza's uncomfortable hand. Ormine's judgmental hand. Hyland's prideful, relishing hand. Then he turned to Yamui and Soleil. The swordsman flashed his wakizashi; Soleil dared him with her flaming eyes alone.
The man gulped. Their hands did not get the Baudelaire treatment.
As for me? Well, sometimes I was glad my flesh wasn't real.
Following that unexpected Fourth Ordeal, he explained - after guaranteeing our future spots in the history books - the places he'd bring us to. First on that list was where Soleil and I currently stood.
"He seems sincere enough." I watched the man declare that Lucival's armor gleamed brighter than a thousand suns. "That's exactly the problem."
"Doubt it. In my experience, those that suck up to you just want somethin'. Like leeches."
"Whatever the case is, I wish he'd quit it. Feels weird, having someone praise the ground you walk on."
"Well I got news for ya," she palmed my shoulder, "he's just the first. We're Templars now: 'champions' of Lumerit. What's more, our arses are in the capital. Merchants'll give stuff on the house, nobles'll want ya to attend their parties, little people'll beg for autographs, handshakes, conversations, your hand in marriage - that sorta thing.
"But they don't even know the first thing about us. Besides that we're Templars."
Soleil nodded. "Exactly."
This was one of the results of Templarhood I never gave much thought to. That was on purpose. Familiar to me were looks of disdain and derision, not admiration and approval. I had a few friends, sure. But the hearts of thousands? On paper, it sounded like a dream come true; who wouldn't want boundless love and respect? Problem was… could I accept it?
I was just a Templar in name. I'd accomplished no great deeds - besides surviving the Ordeals - and strict compliance to oath and law wasn't my thing. More than that, if the nation knew what I really was, beneath everything… I didn't even wanna consider the consequences.
"Not one to bask in the limelight?" the minstrel questioned.
"I'm not you, Soleil," I laughed lightly. "I'll just put my mind somewhere else. Like on our next destination. Won't be long 'til we're escorted to the stables. Though, Abyss, part of me wonders if we could've just ridden on horses, instead of-"
A doorslam cut me off - from the adjacent dressing room. Though it wasn't from anger. It was more from a heavy hand; one heavy hand. Only when she walked out and turned to me did the anger come.
"Oh." Ormine narrowed haughty eyes. "It's you."
"…Do I know you?" I crossed my arms.
"You do now. I didn't want it that way. But then you somehow ended up here."
I played dumb, but I remembered the one-armed brunette well. Ormine was the one whose teammate's corpse I died in the Ordeals. A tragedy. We never spoke, and I didn't pay her much attention since she never got in my way. But she did shoot plenty of scornful stares. Those told me all I needed to know.
"Another person allergic to dark mages?" I shifted my stance to move at a moment's notice. "Well? What are you gonna do about it?"
The woman puffed up in her new tight-fitting clothes. Scowled.
Then… exhaled. "Got memory loss? Our oaths order Templars not to cross blades. Even if they didn't, I wasn't raised to challenge every sod that puts a bad taste in my mouth."
I glanced at a quietly-observing Soleil, then back to Ormine. "…Then why are you still talking to me?"
"Because I want you to know something. You might've tricked that other dark mage scum - and this girl - into thinking you're a decent fella. That you've got a place in the Order. But us?" she pointed to herself. "The real, red-blooded Templars? We hear the lies on your truthless tongue. You might've held on. But we'll never take our eyes off you."
Personal insults were nothing new. But insulting Niles made me consider slugging her across the face. Thankfully Soleil bailed me out.
"Lulu trusts him."
"…Who?" Ormine eyed the minstrel.
"The Judge. You sayin' he's wrong?" she tilted her head. "Oh, or do you just think you're smarter than him?"
"Wh- no! I, that's not what I'm saying at all; I'm only-"
"Hey, Judge!" Soleil called from across the armory. "Ormine's got something she wants to get off her mind!"
I never saw someone go redder, faster. The tough-looking Squire's eyes darted like a frightened cat's for someplace far away. They hit the dressing room right beside her. Ormine hurled herself inside and shut it before Lucival even finished turning around.
"Wow," I said, not sure how else to put it. "Thanks."
Surprised she'd step in for me, after I ignored her in the Final Ordeal…
"Stooges like her deserve it," Soleil smirked. "Choose to see whatever they want, instead of what's right in front of their eyes. More should tuck themselves away where nobody has to see 'em, if ya ask me," she leaned casually against Ormine's door.
"I heard Ormine wanted to speak with me?" asked Lucival, arriving several seconds later.
"More than just speak," replied Soleil. "Poor girl needs help with a wardrobe mishap."
I scratched my head. "Something about those breeches chafing her… private areas, right?"
Soleil blew a concerned breath and nodded. "She's probably rawer than rare steak down there."
Lucival's eyes went wide. "I'm… afraid I cannot be of much aid, in the case of that particular… pinch." He turned to the door. "Erm - best of luck in there, lass!"
While I worked to hold a straight face, the eyes of said face noticed that - behind Lucival - approached a group. Baudelaire and the rest of the Squires.
"Moving on," Lucival uttered quickly, "it seems everyone else is dressed to the nines. Let us all wait outside for Ormine to finish… adjusting. As previously discussed, we will progress next to the stables. Festivities have surely begun in the city proper, and the masses await their new heroes with bated breath."
The Judge turned to head for the armory's thick metal doors. Everyone went to tail him - including Hyland, who underneath the loathing at his own outfit, shot a smirk at mine.
I almost started to get tense.
Then Soleil drifted a smile at me. "Nice assist. Knew it'd be fun to have someone like ya to keep my Templar career fresh."
"Same here," a grin loosened my face instead. After a hurrying knock on Ormine's door, we snickered and left to follow the rest of the group.
Grand, blazing ambitions of resurrection always flickered in the back of my mind. They never slept. Just like me.
But occasionally, I couldn't help but stop to sit by one of the smaller, closer flames.
Abyss… I'm gonna miss this crazy minstrel.
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Walking the Citadel felt like touring the pages of a fable.
Crystalline palaces. Endless emerald acres. Pearlescent walkways. Amphitheaters. Gardens. Monuments. Every Squire gawked at the semi-paradise's excess. Even Hyland. Even Soleil.
Everyone except Yamui. He glided across the pearl path, more interested in muttering to himself.
Really? Still? I watched him from several steps behind. You're a Templar now. Can't you at least act interested?
The swordsman turned to catch me staring, faster than I could look away. His steps slowed 'til he neared me. "Your gaze stinks of ill intent."
"How'd you know I was looking at you?" I asked.
"More eyes than my own have been assigned to my guardianship."
What in the deep Abyss does that even mean?
"…Right. Sure."
"You distrust me. I suppose a Lumeritan would be unaware of such things."
"This Lumeritan's aware that you're talking total nonsense. Besides, I don't have any 'ill intent' for you."
He studied me a moment. "Perhaps you speak true, rival. It is judicious that we not engage in another duel, at any rate. The Judge would intervene before the battle could even properly begin. Furthermore," he glanced at his wakizashi, "I hadn't the chance to improve since our last battle. The… outcome would assuredly be the same."
"What? You're still focused on this rivalry thing? You weren't napping when I fought Niles, were you? I barely won. He's tough, but he wouldn't thrash you. So what makes me worth being your rival?"
The blue-haired foreigner scoffed. "Again you underestimate my senses; I see through your deception now just as I saw through it during your duel."
Huh?
"You could have," he continued, "felled that 'Niles' with one stroke if the whim took you. Yet you held back. To settle that battle with words instead of war. To spare a companion the indignity of an immediate and ignoble defeat."
No matter how tight my forehead creased, his interpretation of events still didn't add up. "…H-how'd you even come to that conclusion? I mean, I did wanna put things right between us, but I've never fought harder to-"
Yamui's nose crinkled as he took deep sniffs at the air. "Ugh. A familiar, earthy odor. But something in it differs from the horse stables belonging to my Clan."
Considering my nose was just a fleshy ornament, I couldn't bask in the same aroma he did. My vision, though, worked just fine.
Fine enough to catch an untethered shadow flitting across the grass.
Far beyond the slope's edge, where the pearl path ended and open grassland reigned below, soared wings of the reddest dawn.
Wider than I was tall, those wings beat against the winds to blast the bird into the sun's glare. But… it was no bird. What bird has a crimson lion's flowing mane? Or fur like red garnets? Then again, razor-pointed talons cut through the breeze, and the sound echoing from its eagle's beak was undeniably a commanding caw.
So, what was the bear-sized beast? Answer's dead simple: neither.
Because something as grand as a gryphon embodied more than just any one creature.
And we saw more than just any one of them, there at the slope's edge. Dozens lapped the sky - vermilion trails high above a small, orderly collection of wooden livestock stalls.
Yamui jolted. "A-avian lions? Or-or leonine eagles?" he grunted away the lesser questions. "What manner of creature are these?"
"Ho, ho!" Baudelaire laughed, facing us Squires, "Leonine avians, you say? Even infants know of the Templar's legendary gryphons." He adjusted his hat smoothly - before it nearly grew legs and jumped off his head at Yamui's scowl. "N-not that I mean to imply any ignorance on your part! Even in the latest hour, I have perceived an aura of sharp intellect stemming from your person that rivals the greatest philosophers of our era. Why, in fact-"
"He gets the picture, I believe," Lucival cleared his throat.
Baudelaire had a point, even if it almost lopped off his head. Everyone was awed - in the way you'd be when in the audience of a legendary stage actor. But Yamui was the only one who genuinely couldn't believe his eyes.
Though, Ryzza aspired to give him a run for his foreign money. "They're just as beautiful as I've read!" she blurted away any timidness or gloom. "No - even moreso!"
"Tales of Templars," Ormine shaded her gazing eyes, "charging into battle on these marvels… they've inspired me since I was a babe. The only thing missing in this scene are undead to crush!"
Lucival smiled. "Sure enough, combat will come. But now is the time for celebration. And to get there, you must select which gryphon to ride upon. Though its more apt to say that it is the gryphon that shall select you."
The Lionheart let that hang in the breeze as he ushered us down the path. All of us were stirred in different ways.
Yamui, for his part, went back to muttering under cold breath. He lagged behind us. Uncharacteristically awestruck. "A winged creature that allows its partner flight? It is just like…"
I fell into the swordsman's eye, and he sped to meet me at the group's rear.
"Are you… all right?" I asked.
"Rival," he uttered as directly as a spear to the heart, "tell me of these Lumeritan beasts. Griffiths, they called them."
"Gryphons," I corrected.
"Cease your smiling! Do you know of them or not?"
This almost feels like a prank. Yamui's really lowering himself to ask for an explanation? From me?
"Of course I know them - I've spent hours reading up on the Templars. That includes their mounts. Though, can't say I know exactly what you wanna hear. Gryphons are exotic," I tossed out something I felt was interesting. "Estimates have their population somewhere under a hundred. Like, in existence. Over half of those are the Order's."
I stopped to take a faux-breath, just to almost gasp at how intently he listened. More than listened, really. He craved to hear more.
"Lumerit's the only place they live, too," I found myself bordering on the territory of "fun" facts. "Oh, and apparently they symbolize loyalty, bravery, might, and about sixty other things."
"That is of no surprise. Respectable, noteworthy creatures oft represent high virtues."
Respectable? Heh. Never pegged him as an animal guy.
Yamui stepped softly around loose red feathers. "Which makes their sole presence in this realm all the more baffling."
"Does it? I've got too much of my own baggage with the place to give you a sales pitch. But, Lumerit isn't all bad. There's good views. Good company." I half-nodded. "Good opportunities."
He scoffed. "I am doubtful. But I will remain in this land for a number of years."
His attention rose to the aquamarine skies, spotted with mythical, legendary beasts. Innocent excitement flashed in his eyes. Or… was that just a mirage?
"…Perhaps it isn't impossible, for other silent surprises to be unearthed in this realm."
Hm. I watched him hurry his pace ahead. Maybe there is.