To their surprise, the gate swung wide open, revealing a tight lipped woman.
She had a tight bun that pulled at her face, and eyebrows that looked thin enough to slice you in half.
Flint especially didn't like the way she looked at him, like an object that required assessment.
She gave Norvall a sharp look. "Lord Norvall. Late as always. I was getting fed up waiting for you two."
Norvall grumbled. "It's not my fault I always have to drive to the middle of nowhere, Rorie. If I remember correctly you were among those who vetoed getting the kid an actually functioning waypoint."
"Always the excuses with you." Rorie wrinkled her nose as she turned her hard gaze to Flint, who had been narrowing his eyes at the two of them.
"You were expecting me to come? So you knew I wouldn't meet the tribute." Flint paused, glaring at the two of them. "But how would you know the amount of money I had left in my treasury?"
Norvall grimaced. "You're overthinking it, boy–"
Flint cut him off. "So I was right about there being Thyran spies among my staff. But why would you bastards," he spat that word, "go through all those theatrics?"
Rorie's face turned sourer than it already was.
Which slightly impressed Flint that her face could contort so much with so little excess skin. He half expected her skin would tear in half from being stretched so much.
Flint mentally groaned as he prepared to hear another nonsense speech about respect and a plethora of excuses, with some insults sprinkled in.
A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him. Turning around, he saw Benji flashing him a small smile before turning to face Rorie.
"Lady Rorie, it'd be best if we made haste."
She hesitated, her intense gaze remaining on Flint, before finally turning around and barking at them to follow her.
As Flint walked into the gate, his migraine grew in intensity, making him wince and stumble.
Attempting to regain his footing, he took a pause to take in his surroundings. He was standing on a gravel path leading to a building that looked like a breed of classic and modern architecture.
The shimmer in the air was gone, but the place looked noticeably bigger, fully dwarfing the nearby residences.
The lawn was a violent unnatural shade of green, with several young spruce trees spread about that were being tended to by a hunch-backed gardener.
Rorie entered the building through the half-open doors. They were greeted by two Thyrans who weren't much older than Flint.
Soon, they went out of the lobby area and started going through the building's twisting hallways.
The interior of the building felt sterile, like a doctor's office. Even though the exterior appeared to be wooden and heavily decorated, the walls inside were made out of concrete and felt uninviting and cold.
As they continued walking, Flint attempted to keep track of all the people and offices they had passed, but the migraine he had made his thoughts sluggish.
Before long, they finally came to a stop in front of a door that shared the wooden aesthetic of the exterior.
A maid stood by the doorway, and her eyes lit up once she saw Rorie. "Lady Rorie! Oh thank the heavens. I'm not sure how much longer they would have stayed patient."
Flint had no clue how anybody could be happy to see a face like Rorie's. However, a glance at Rorie revealed her expression softened a measure of a degree, and she offered the maid a curt nod before facing Flint and flashing a death glare.
"Brat, if I ever hear you address me with a tone that doesn't radiate respect, I'll have you flogged. Something your grandfather should've done to break your attitude."
She then turned and walked past him, entering the room.
Watching her walk away, Flint resisted the urge to spit at her. As if fate wanted to stop him from going too far, he winced as his headache grew in pain.
"You good kiddo?"
Norvall flashed a look of concern at the boy, who had his hand held at his skull, trying to fight through the wave of nausea the pain was causing him.
He took a breath before responding to Norvall in a single word. "Fine."
Norvall clearly wasn't satisfied with that answer, but Flint had no intention of elaborating.
Flint waited and let Norvall and Benji go into the room first, before stepping inside himself.
It was beyond extravagant, with pillars containing engravings of gold strips and a floor that sparkled with clear quartz. On the walls were some notable figures of Thyran ancestry. Above their heads was a sparkling silver chandelier, with only eight of its sixteen candles lit.
The room was filled with people his age, with Flint getting a headcount of around 25.
All of them were from families that were entwined with the Thyran. Excluding a few commoners that appeared to be dotted along the crowd.
Their faces all blurred together, but from who he could recognize, there were those twins of Falrith, that upright prodigy of Elevanor, and that one kid of Tharion he used to bully at those gatherings, among several others.
With their attention turned towards the entrance, Rorie began a short address. "This is the final attendee, Falintin Valerius."
Multiple murmurs could be heard. "Valerius?"
"Like the hero Vance Valerius?"
The room went silent as they all stared at him, with expressions ranging from curiosity to pity.
Flint didn't really pay attention to any of them, for as far as he was concerned, they could all go jump into the jaws of a Soul Beast.
But one person caught his eye. It was that Elevanor prodigy, a sharp-eyed girl whose stare he couldn't quite read.
He'd been trying to avoid anybody he knew, but that momentary delay was enough for a duo to creep up on him.
A boy with his golden hair in a buzzcut and a brunette girl whose smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Oi Flint!" The boy talked to him first, and gave him a heavy grin, one of those infectious ones that made you want to smile all the same.
Flint's resentment flared as he realized he had to glance up to look at his face. Damn it, when did he get so tall?
"Kesan. And Ezra, always lovely to see you."
The girl greeted him. "Nice to see you as well Flint. It's been a while."
"Been too long." Not long enough. "Kesan, how's your old pops doing?"
Kesan's smile grew. "He's doing great, managed to snag a job as an instructor for newly instated Vessels. He's saying he'll finally retire once I make my place in the Soul Realm."
"Sorry to interrupt." Ezra said, studying Flint's face. "You look kind of pale. Are you all right?"
"Completely fine." Flint felt like he was about to die. The pain in his skull kept getting worse each second. "I just need some water."
Kesan gave him a strange look, before pointing to the table behind him. "There's some bottles over there."
Flint gave him a curt thanks and started moving towards the table.
But as he stumbled his way to the table, the looks he got began to compound.
His vision turned blurry, but he managed to labor his way to the table, pouring himself a glass of water.
As he raised the glass to his lips, his grip failed him, causing the glass to plummet to the floor.
Flint tried to move his legs to attempt to dodge the broken shards of glass on the floor, but he lost control and plummeted to the ground, slamming his head on a nearby pillar.
He phased in and out of reality, faintly hearing some yells and screams, before realizing they were his own.
The pain in his skull increased tenfold, his mind torn to pieces with thousands of tiny hot razors slowly digging their way in and his body being engulfed in a burning sensation that crept its way to his soul.
The agony stretched on for what felt like an eternity.
Then suddenly; the pain was gone – not even a trace. Flint moaned a sigh of relief before opening his eyes.
Where.. was he?
There were Vessels with hallucination powers, weren't there? But this felt too real, like he'd been transported into a dream.
Or more aptly, a nightmare.
Looking up, the sky could only be described as the utter demise of light with a black deeper than anything he'd seen before, yet he still was able to see perfectly as if there still were a sun in the sky.
Every couple of seconds a burst of color sparked throughout the sky, casting the surrounding atmosphere in a misty ambience. The air felt heavy, pressing down on his body and aching his muscles.
He lay on what appeared to be a cliff in a mountain range, the jagged rocks digging into his back.
Flint expected to burst into a shiver, but he didn't feel any chill at all. Or heat for that matter.
None of the descriptions of the Soul Realm his brother had told him lined up with his surroundings.
"Am I dead?"
He frowned as he stood up, wondering what could have possibly happened, before widening his eyes as he caught sight of the figure standing merely several meters away from him.
The figure – who was situated right next to the edge of the cliff – was gazing at the sky, as if peering into the heavens. Then he slowly turned his gaze to Flint, causing him to back away in fear.
For the man did not have a face.