... cursed b— ...—thy w—rds...
...c—t d—wn...
...br— ...—nded...
...Be my herald...
***
Ashoka gasped sharply, his eyes opening wide as his body straightened up on the slanted chair with a sudden jolt. His heart drummed loudly within his own chest as he found himself drenched in sweat. For a second, he just sat there with the same expression of unfathomable terror, chest heaving up and down in a slow rhythm.
After a minute, his breathing finally calming down. He turned his head, looking outside the window and glancing at the starry night sky with lost expression. Then, he let his head fall into his hands and let out a curse.
"Fuck... Those ravings..." He let out a shaky breath, trying to calm his mind. He had been trying to take a small nap, to rest for what was to come tonight, and to take his mind away from the Memory he had received.
It seems he had severly underestimated his own worsening mental health. It had deteriorated to the point that he had even started hearing the ravings during sleep. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that he had almost started listening to those mysterious whispers without even realising that something was wrong.
Listening to one's surroundings was a normal instinct to a living being, almost automatic. Sure, he had read LoTM and knew the dangers of listening to those whispers, but he still had that instinct to unconsciously listen.
Even after transmigrating into this world and coming into contact with the beyonder system, his mind had still unconsciously regarded these information as fiction and unimportant details. There was still a thin wall between these two parts of his minds which prevented him from being fully vigilant to these new supernatural elements. It was like reading about chemical reaction in a book, and then having to actually perform it and note down all the observation. You would always have some mistakes happening, and this could only be prevented by more and more practice.
The reason why Ashoka had been so thankful to Raymond was that she had, to a certain extent, helped him breaking through that thin wall of disconectedness.
Sadly, nothing similar had been done regarding the information about the LoTM elements. He had no real experience to speak of. As a result, his mind had discarded the obvious details. He had almost listened to those raving. In fact, they sounded odly clear, like a story being told on an open stage...
He might even be able understand them...
If only he tried listening to it a little harder...
Wake out of it goddammit! There was the sound of a slap as Ashoka's hand and cheek stinged sharply. After another short pause, he leaned back into his chair with a tired sigh.
These are things they don't teach you in those fanfics! Gods, I almost went half mad because of that.
After absorbing his daily dose of soul shards, Ashoka stood up, preparing to head out. He planned on going into Alariv's room to take the Ascended soul shards. He wanted to speed up his progress. He already had the keys to his room since he was supposed to be his proxy, so now, there really wasn't anything stopping him.
Thinking that, he summoned his runes to check his own progress. The golden runes of the spell shimmered into existence in front of him.
Potion Progress:
[58%{———————————||—————————100%}]
The court case of Oswald that he had handled today had pushed his digestion all the way by 25% in a single session, and after that, as the news of it spread throughout Casamir, another 5% was added to his progress.
I'm still a little disappointed though...
He had assumed that acting in front of his pathway's literal Uniqueness would've amounted to more, but the world seemed to have other plans.
As he neared the door, preparing to open it, he heard faint noise coming from outside.
Strange...
As he opened the door, the noise quickly transformed into the sound of hurried footsteps as Ashoka saw a dozen or so servants, carrying expensive looking items and furniture and moving along the corridor.
His eyes followed the path that they were coming from, and immediately noticed Oswald silently standing in the middle of the corridor with his arms crossed, a pitiful expression on his face, watching as the servants passed by him, taking away the precious things he once owned.
Aha! So they are taking that guy's stuff. Take that you pathetic bastard!
In the next second, as if sensing his thoughts, Oswald turned his head slightly. His expression instantly twisted as his gaze landed on Ashoka.
Feeling the cold stare of the prince, Ashoka Instinctually turned his head to look the other way.
After a slight pause, he turned to face Oswald once again, with a mocking smile plastered over his face. Then, he raised his hand up and gave him a wave, as if they were just some friendly neighbors greeting each other.
Oswald eyes instantly turned murderous in that instant as his presence rose sharply. One of the servant passing by him instantly turned stiff in his steps and stumbled, letting the items he was carrying fall near Oswald's feet.
Poor guy. Ashoka thought.
For a short, very short second, Ashoka had the urge to also give a mocking bow to the still scowling Prince, but quickly discarded that dangerous thought.
Ehem– lets not tempt fate any further. I'm already cursed by it as is!
Thinking that, he hurriedly walked forward and past Oswald, arriving near Alariv's chamber. He quickly took out the keys and inserted the correct one in the lock.
With a twist, the lock opened with a soft click. Pushing the door open, he entered the room, closing it behind him as he heard the noise from outside becoming muffled.
Inside, he was greeted by near complete darkness, with only a small part of the bed and its corresponding wall being illuminated by the soft moonlight.
He had been ready to light the lamp near the door, but soon found it unnecessary as he saw the thing he had come here for glowing in the darkness like bright embers.
They were the three Ascended Soul shards that belonged Alariv.
He moved towards them with silent steps.
Soon, he was standing right in front of the table, his fingers just inches away from the silver petals that enclosed the soul shards. In that instant, his heart stirred.
He felt like a blasphemer in that moment, trying to defile something sacred or meaningful. His eyes filled with an indescribable emotion.
After another bout of hesitation, he let his hand fall with a sigh, as if tired of this entire world.
What, have I gone so low as to become a tomb robber now?
Of course, this wasn't a tomb — Alariv hadn't had the luxury of getting one — but the feeling was the same.
He hadn't expected the emotions holding him back to be this intense, after all, he had barely known him for even a full week.
As he was turning around to leave, his eyes caught a faint glint coming from the edge of the table. Following the light, his gaze landed on a silver stiletto, with a blade the length of half his forearm hanging by the side. It lingered there for a full dozen second, and then his hands moved slowly.
The task today has a chance to be dangerous.
I will be sure to return it...
***
Far away from the palace, in a Menagerie Tent of Slarman's trade caravan set up in the large city centre.
The tent smelled of soil and green things. Rows of potted plants lined the ground on either side, some flowering, some not, all of them healthy in the way that plants near this particular woman tended to be. A cutting that had arrived three days ago half-dead now sat fat and dark-leafed near the entrance. A stem that had been snapped clean during the caravan's journey through the wilderness had knitted itself back together so completely that you had to know where to look to find the scar.
The woman herself was humming something tuneless, moving between the pots with a small pair of shears. She paused at a small plant near the back, turned one of its leaves over in her fingers, and clicked her tongue softly at what she found underneath.
She was getting ready to cut off an infected stem when a knock echoed from outside.
"Come in~" she said, in a tone that made it sound like song.
She didn't look up immediately. The infected stem was worse than she'd thought — the rot had spread further down than the surface showed. She set two fingers against it, held them there for a moment, and watched the brown recede slowly back toward the cut she was about to make. Just enough. With that down, he set her shear down and turned to look at the entrance.
This was of course, the Awakened from the trade caravan with an aspect related to growth and healing.
Her eyes reflected the hooded figure that had just entered inside. Under the illumination of the faint moonlight pouring from the transparent top of the tent, she could just make out the contours of the face that was half marred with a terrible fresh burn, hidden under the darkness of the hood.
She stepped closer, squinting.
Looking at the pink flesh, swollen blisters and the visible charred marks, she couldn't help but hiss audibly.
"By the gods, look at that horrible burn." She stepped closer still. "Don't worry, you came to the right place. I'll patch you up real quick."
Just as she reached out her hand to touch the injury, she was stopped by the man with an arm. Looking up, she gave him a confused look, which quickly transformed into one of realisation.
"Ah! If you're worried about the price, don't bother, its only 2 gold coins. If you don't have that either, you can work for me for a week to make up for it."
The hooded man shook his head.
"I have the money to pay, that's not a problem." He paused. "But before you begin, I have a few questions."
The Awakened gave him a curious look, tilting her head. By now, the face of the hooded figure was starting to feel familiar, though she just couldn't remember whom — she was never good at remembering faces to begin with. The man continued speaking.
"Did you attend today's Royal Court?"
The woman shook her head in denial. The hooded man nodded slowly, then asked the next question.
"Can you heal scars?"
"Yes, I can, though it will cost more money." She crossed her arms. "Now, now, let's not wait any longer. The longer you stall, the more it'll hurt."
This time, it was the man who shook his head. "No, I don't want you to heal this burn."
"Wha—"
"I want the scar."
The woman stared at him for a long moment, then let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. A few minutes of confusion and complaining followed before she finally complied with her customer's strange request.
For some time, the tent was filled with the sounds of low, pained grunts.
After finishing with the 'healing', she cleaned her hands with a wet cloth to remove the blood marks. With that done, she turned around to face the man, as if to say something.
Just then, she subtly saw the hands of the man moving with an unnatural speed.
In the next second, her entire world went dark.
***
Looking at the unconscious body of the healer crumpling to the ground with a thud, like a puppet with its strings cut, Gaius let out a heavy breath.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
After a second of hesitation, he slowly moved his hand and touched the burn scar on his face.
He hadn't planned for it to hurt this much. He was an ascended. Pain was something he had long since learned to set aside and ignore. Yet this particular burning had crept past all of that, settling deep into the bone behind his cheek, and even now it pulsed steadily with every heartbeat.
He turned to the small mirror propped on the healer's table.
His father's eyes looked back at him. His father's jaw, his father's brow. And now — his brother's scar.
The only thing different between Oswald and him outwardly was the messy hair. He reached up and smoothed it back.
The reflection stared at him, and he stared back.
He stayed like that for a long moment.
Then, without another word to himself or to the room or to the mirror, he bent down and carefully picked up the unconscious body of the Awakened healer.
***
The palace at this hour was a different creature entirely.
Not dead — a palace this size never truly slept — but diminished. The torches along the outer walls burned lower than their daytime counterparts, casting long amber streaks across the pale stone that made the shadows between them look deeper than they were. The night air carried a bite to it, the particular cold that settled into open courtyards after midnight, and the guards at their posts had the particular stillness of men half asleep.
Oswald moved carefully along it, keeping close to the stone where the torchlight didn't reach. He paused at every corner, checked, then moved again. His hood was pulled low. Plain clothes, nothing that would draw attention. He kept his steps measured and his breathing even, he had done this enough times to know where the guards were posted and where the gaps between their patrol routes fell, knew that the two soldiers at the gatehouse proper turned inward to talk to each other on the hour, every hour, like clockwork.
He reached the base of the outer wall near the old gatehouse. Paused.
Then slipped through the narrow side passage beside it without looking back.
The city swallowed him.
---
Ashoka watched from the recessed shadow of a buttress twenty meters back, back against cold stone, one knee raised, the other leg stretched out across the frost-pale ground.
He had been here for the better part of an hour.
His hand rested loosely at his hip, thumb moving in a slow unconscious arc across the smooth metal handle of the stiletto. Warm from his body heat by now. He kept doing that without meaning to.
I will return it, he had told himself in Alariv's room.
He still intended to.
He watched the passage where Oswald had disappeared and then looked up at the stars for a moment and his mind wandered back to his conversation with Gaius.
During their various discussion when planning their treason, Ashoka had asked him to disclose any useful secret he knew about Oswald. Gaius did as he asked and revealed some very interesting details about his brother, though one of them caught Ashoka's attention immediately.
As it turned out, the detestable prince also had a secret mistress hidden somewhere in Casamir. He would visit her from time to time at the dead of night when he had cause to celebrate. Visits her when he had cause to mourn. According to Gaius, in the last two years, he had never known him to miss either occasion. Ashoka could only guess that he was going to her for pleasure.
This information soon became a core element in their plan to deal with Oswald, mainly because it was one of the few actions of the prince that could easily be predicted to a very specific and short timeline. Such moments were rare and especially so when you actually needed them to appear in a certain time, so Ashoka wanted to make full use of this.
What he had in mind for this was to create a reverse alibi for the prince.
Ashoka looked at the passage a moment longer.
He stayed another moment in the shadow of the buttress, thumb crossing the stiletto's handle one final time, then reached down beside his feet. His fingers found the smooth curve of the bronze flask. Gaius's blood, cold now, the cap sealed. He lifted it, straightened, and stood. He too wore a hood now, a piece of cloth covering his facial features.
The passage Oswald had taken led west into the city.
Ashoka turned east.
---
Two corridors from the old gatehouse, a soldier stood at a post that nobody really visited or patrolled, all alone for the last three hours. The one who had assigned him here had said it was on Prince Gaius's orders. He had wanted to laugh at that — Gaius, personally concerned with this forgotten corner of the palace — but the other man had outranked him, so he hadn't.
He was still thinking about it when movement caught the edge of his vision.
A hooded figure, slipping through the passage by the gatehouse. Quiet, quick, keeping to the shadow of the wall. Nobody else in the courtyard seemed to notice.
He reached for the copper whistle at his belt.
Then the figure passed through a gap in the torchlight, and he caught a glimpse of the left side of the face beneath the hood. A deep, long-healed scar, pale and sunken against the skin. It looked like a burn scar.
Prince Oswald?
His hand stopped.
He stood there for a moment, whistle in hand, watching the empty passage.
Then he put it back.
Yeah, no... I'm not paid enough to deal with some royalty bullshit...
And while he thought that no one other than him noticed, he was wrong, because his eyes were not his alone.
The crown's ever present gaze was also watching.