The leader of Eldaram found herself perplexed by what had happened a few days ago. Good arcanists were truly rare nowadays, as if Farandhur had given up on the natural flow of the continent and reserved his power for the elves. The woman was sitting in her upholstered yet uncomfortable chair, which she had requested to be replaced several times. The office, old and once belonging to the monarchy, still had the charm and sumptuousness of royalty. The beautiful books were selected for their appearance rather than their content. The draconian tapestries were stunning, made of magical fabrics and golden threads. The door had been crafted by dwarven artisans who dedicated themselves to every detail of the desert fire dragon, its imposing image flying with outstretched wings, immortalized in the black wood. The pleasant scent of morning dew wafted through the window. They had taken over the palace and made it the regency and the space the leadership would occupy every day for the next ten years. The fragility of the republic was tested daily by enthusiastic rebels who longed for the old regime; disgruntled nobles, who had lost their titles, schemed in vain attempts that always reached the ears of the current leader.
— It's the mage from years ago. Two hundred years ago, there was a group of legendary heroes who destroyed Movarth, the Devourer of Worlds. — Ghost approached Adreele Abraha'am, the current leader of the republic. Adreele hated the way Ghost would approach; she could never predict when the woman would simply emerge from the shadows.
— Could you announce yourself? I don't think the leadership should die from sudden fright. — Adreele ran her hand through her own hair, still perplexed. The woman was short, with full, curly hair that reached her buttocks, and robust, with ample breasts hidden beneath a discreet dress. Her skin was white, marked by some battle scars, but she no longer fought since she had finally dethroned the last king.
— You won't die from something so trivial. — Ghost approached the table, picking up the letter from the southern soldiers.
— Explain to me about this mage and the story of the Devourer of Worlds. I know a bit about the legendary group, but I don't know them faithfully, I admit. It's been a long time since the heroes vanished, hasn't it? Except for Laurent, who lives in the deserts. — The leader wanted to understand the letter.
"Leader,
A powerful mage helped the republic by dismantling criminals who were acting with the intent of stealing food and weapons to strengthen civil uprisings. He claims to be a mage of the tower."
— It's a story that more closely resembles a legend: that a mage imprisoned in a tower could grant any wish. But the story is deeper. — Ghost didn't know the details of what had happened in the past, as if the very act of thinking deeply about something involving the mysterious mage was dissipated from her mind; but if he had managed to escape from the tower, it meant there was something important to understand about what had transpired, even if the information wasn't sufficiently precise.
— What do the legends tell? — The leader understood that they shouldn't take everything fictional legends said as complete truth, but there were hidden truths within myths, especially when they involved deities. And if she wished to have a possible ally, she needed his intentions to be clear.
— Morvath, an ancient deity in ascension, desired to claim the eighth seat of the pantheon we know today. Someone ambitious, but not only that: his power ranged from controlling earthquakes and storms, influencing the hearts of the weak to become fanatical defenders of his cause, to even being able to rewrite part of reality. The world in chaos because of someone so influential and powerful. The group called the Defenders of the Realm, composed of a paladin, a warrior, an archer, and a mage, opposed Morvath, defending the world and the gods, since, if this evil ever became a deity in fact, the world as we know it today might never have existed. — Ghost calmly walked through the place, as if telling a bedtime story. Adreele shivered completely at the prospect of pure chaos.
"Morvath was banished by the four heroes; the battle lasted days and destroyed part of the dwarf kingdom, which was near the ocean of dark waters, where the cataclysm of power occurred. Geographically, the landscape changed. To this day, there are constant disappearances in the area of the sea, avoided by fishermen, boatmen, and trade routes, because wild magic is present, and the place pulses with uncontrollable arcane energy. Only a madman would venture to the old battlefield."
— That doesn't explain why this mage was imprisoned in the tower. — Although patient, the leader didn't like how the conversation slowly meandered toward the climax. She knew Ghost did this on purpose. Her calm, low voice, as if she controlled the environment, was almost pedantic. However, she had to respect her as the executioner of the former rulers, someone who had been fundamental so that today the people could hold the banners of victory.
— The group gained fame, becoming known as the "Defenders of the Realm"; however, one of its members, precisely the most powerful one, who possessed arcane power in his essence, decided that Morvath was right to ascend, aspiring to the highest position a mundane being could: the divine. His former comrades, heroes of Everyn, the goddess of justice, stopped him, sealing his power in the tower. Laurent built an oasis in the middle of the desert, unreachable to us, where he has ruled as a sovereign king for more than two hundred years. Gilgrim hasn't been seen for over a century, nor has Randyr; it is believed they died or perished at some point. But the three were blessed by the very goddess of justice. — Ghost concluded the short narrative.
— And you believe this? So, this mage who escaped the tower is our enemy? — Adreele didn't like the idea of getting involved with someone who had been against such a consolidated group of heroes, although humans usually left legends as legends.
— Not completely. The stories I heard always had some discrepancies, something always seemed to be missing. The piece of the puzzle. — The woman, whose appearance hadn't been seen for a long time, commented indifferently. Ghost wore her neat military uniform: dark-colored fabrics that facilitated camouflage; two black steel gauntlets ran from her wrists to her elbows. Additionally, she wore a faceless mask — merely armor for her expressions — and the low hood prevented anyone from perceiving any trace of her skin or hair. The outfit was completed with dark gloves and polished boots. Her weapons couldn't be seen. But Adreele had already seen the woman in action, so she knew that beneath the cloak and fabrics lurked the deadliness of a fierce combatant.
— However, it's clear that we need strong allies if we want to keep the republic. Every day, small insurgent groups form in the south, mainly in places we can't easily reach. If we have such a powerful mage on our side, we can undoubtedly track opponents. However, we need to know his intentions and ambitions before making a deal that benefits both sides. If his goal doesn't align with ours, we cannot make any agreement. — Ghost finally sat in front of the leader.
Adreele understood the counselor's point; she had been pondering since she received the soldier's letter. However, there was the fear of accepting former heroes into her inner circle, especially when this being of immeasurable power had become the imbalance in the goddess of justice's scales. But the cause remained more important than the eternal feuds of the past. The battle they faced wasn't against a great powerful villain who wanted to destroy worlds or wipe out humanity, but rather against the old regime that oppressed the people, subjugated the weakest, and starved them, imposing violence on opponents; a silencing regime that gave no voice to those who truly held the power. So, she was willing to at least hear what this mage had to say, willing enough to send a message to the other so they could meet and have an honest conversation about current politics. And, depending on how it went, they could finally consider fully establishing the republican banner or fight for it to happen one day.
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They walked in absolute silence. The morning turned out to be fortunate when they managed to find the trail leading to the road. Liandre picked some fruit along the way; luckily, his knowledge had saved him in moments of adversity. How many times had he been without his equipment? Countless, and that was why he had to learn how to survive in the wilderness. He knew how to hunt, make fires, find good places to sleep. He learned the basics with the guild; after that, he gradually expanded his knowledge through practice in the most adverse situations possible. So, they wouldn't die of hunger or thirst. However, the discomfort was starting to stir anguish in his heart. He decided to simply keep walking without looking in the mage's direction. He needed to distance himself emotionally if he wanted to salvage a bit of his own dignity.
— Is it much farther? — Khaled complained like a child who didn't know the distance.
— I don't know. — Liandre replied curtly, cutting the branches ahead, making the path easier. — It's a hunter's trail, which means there must be a road further ahead or, at least, a cabin.
— Don't you know which part of Eldaram this is? — The mage insisted on having some kind of answer, although he did this mostly because he was starting to feel uncomfortable with the cutting silence. Why was the other acting this way? The bond should grant him some tolerance for the attitudes he'd taken along the journey, even if they were bad. Khaled knew he couldn't push the other past his limits—had he already crossed that emotional barrier? He still wasn't capable of fully understanding another being in depth when he didn't have enough clues about what caused their discomfort.
— No, Khaled. There's no way to know just by the type of forest or the road; I need more information. If at least we find the train track, I'll be able to get my bearings. — The mercenary was trying to be patient, but that wasn't one of his strongest traits, so he feared saying more than he should.
He didn't want to demand a stance from someone with whom the relationship would never go beyond a shallow surface. Like the other, he should focus on breaking the curse and living his life with dignity, just as he'd always dreamed; he could even have a farm or an inn in the future. They could hear the distant sound of coyotes. The forest was alive and dangerous; the problem was never just the wild animals—there were always monsters and creatures wandering about, beings lurking, waiting for unprepared adventurers wandering through the woods. However, the two who were lost could easily defend themselves. Liandre demonstrated that when the first Ogre jumped at him, trying to catch him off guard; but the mercenary had noticed it at least twenty minutes earlier, waiting for the moment it would make its move. With two strikes, he cut off the giant's head, making its large body fall to the ground with a dull thud. Birds fled in fear from the sound of the blades. However, he didn't care; he just wanted to find a path he recognized.
— Liandre, I think we need to talk. — Khaled hopped over the ogre's corpse lying dead on the ground, with no chance of resurrection.
— About what? — The mercenary was stained with blood on his armor, and his clothes were in tatters due to the fight a few days ago; he was only dry because of the sun, which seemed unwilling to give them a break.
— Are you upset because I don't want to talk about my relationship with Farandhur? — He knew he needed to go slowly. The ground he was treading wasn't just difficult, it was emotional, so he could explore what was bothering the other carefully.
Khaled, it's just...
But the mage couldn't hear what the warrior was saying. A magical message was delivered, completely overshadowing Liandre's complaints.
"Mage of the Tower,
You are being summoned to the capital of Elderim, Valdharis, in the Marble District.
Summoned directly by the republican leadership, Adreele Abraha'am.
We await your presence eagerly."
— "I will be there soon." — Khaled responded to the message impassively, completely cutting off Liandre's speech.
— What? — He asked, not understanding what the mage meant by such words, after having opened his heart in an almost poetic speech about his own feelings and having felt rejected the night before. He had needed courage to say such shameful words, and that's why his gaze was full of doubts in the other's direction. Moreover, he had to turn and face the person who was shaking his emotions at that moment.
— Sorry, Liandre, I just received a magical message from the power core of the Republic of Elderim. And that message takes precedence over any words I may have spoken before; it's not something I can control. I ended up replying that I will attend the summons. — Khaled said more softly, hoping the other would understand.
— Will? What does that have to do with the search for the fragments? — Of course Liandre's position would be completely against going to the government that had murdered his family.
— It will help reduce the dangers along the way. — Even knowing how the mercenary felt, Khaled couldn't ignore the strategic advantages of aligning with the local politics. And, seeing the other's confused look, he found himself trying to explain something that, in his mind, sounded obvious.
— Forget it, I'm not getting involved with the Republic. Did you even hear what I said about my parents? My family? I still don't know where my sister is. Linette could be dead, and I'll never know. — He finally exploded, after having been ignored by the elf. He didn't feel right about considering going to the Republic, no matter how important it might be. — Can you have the slightest empathy for my situation?
Khaled finally realized that he had been neglecting the bond he'd created with Liandre, pushing the mercenary toward the edge of indifference. He grabbed his hand firmly, just before they stepped onto the road a few steps ahead. He could feel the gentle warmth of his hand, even though it was wrapped in leather bindings; he imagined that, for a warrior who held a sword so masterfully, his fingers must be full of calluses, and indeed, he could feel the subtle roughness in his fingers. He paid attention to the face in front of him; Liandre was slightly dazed by the gesture. His heart skipped a beat for a few moments. His large frame drew attention, his unshaven beard, the direct and honest gaze; he liked the brutality, the rugged way, even though he couldn't allow himself to feel it. "Sorry, Oda, I couldn't keep the promise to feel this emotion freely." Love couldn't happen with a human imbued with my magic.
— Liandre, listen. — He straightened his posture and closed the distance between them, letting go of his hand and placing his palm on his face; it was difficult to reach such a tall man, but he liked that dynamic. — I was negligent with your feelings. I'm sorry. Seeing my master caused me a commotion I didn't expect to feel. It had been two hundred years without seeing anyone who appreciated me even minimally. — And losing her... but he couldn't tell, he couldn't say those words. He didn't want Liandre to know. — Yesterday you did everything for me, and I thank you for that. If you hadn't been with me, I wouldn't have even gotten out of the tower, let alone survived yesterday. We can talk about whatever you want, but for my survival and the fulfillment of the objective, more protection is necessary than just magic. They're not only going to come after me; they're going after the fragment itself and trying to destroy it, to deprive me of my power.
Liandre remained silent, feeling the soft touch of those delicate hands that had never held any blade except to cut plants or make potions. He simply thought seriously about the future and what he wanted. He wanted Khaled, wanted his lips, and wanted him to fulfill his goals. He no longer wanted the curse; he just wanted to live in peace, but that would mean overcoming his traumas.
— Explain it to me better. — He asked, accepting the touch, accepting the closeness. Khaled sighed in relief, not just because of the manipulation, but he felt that he shouldn't hurt his only ally.
— Gilgrim and Randyr were always against political involvement; their idea is just pure heroism. But engaging with political ideals is also about saving people, it's also contributing. After all, politics is part of daily life, especially for the less fortunate. Anyway, I'm rambling, aren't I? What does it mean for the two most respected heroines not to salute the rulers? — He understood more about political strategy, just like Laurent, who used to get involved with kings and monarchs. — My idea isn't to fully align with the Republic, but to show solicitude, to present myself as a hero to the people using our rulers. That will help us in part, and we can also genuinely do something for the people. I know you were part of a mercenary team, but didn't you ever do something for people out of genuine good? Actually, you don't need to answer. I know you did. You lived in solitude just because you didn't want to hurt others with your curse.
Liandre wouldn't call himself a hero for that, but he understood the other's point. He simply let out a genuine sigh.
— I trust your decision. I know you want to do good for others, even after everything. — But he didn't want to get involved with the murderers of his parents.
— I'll handle everything; I'm not going to force you to interact with anyone you don't want to. One meeting should be enough to establish an alliance and the necessary bridges, plus a heroic feat that will present me to the people. I'm not going to become a counselor for the Republic, even if one day that happens; it won't be while we're focused on our mission. — Khaled was still caressing his face, letting his hand slide down to his neck.
Hearing his words didn't bring him much comfort. However, it was time to face the old tormentors. People's lives had relatively improved, and he didn't want to meddle with politics precisely because of that. The blood sacrifice his parents made had made the daily lives of the less fortunate more bearable. The Republic was still young, and there were opponents scattered across Elderim wishing for its fall and the return of the monarchs, but Liandre didn't want that anymore; he didn't want the old rulers. On the other hand, he also wouldn't help those in power; he didn't feel that could be his role. But he was accompanying Khaled, so it would be better to do it.
— All right.
Khaled smiled more brightly, standing on tiptoe. He kissed Liandre's lips, who promptly responded, wrapping his arms completely around the mage's waist. The earlier dampness was no longer there because of the morning heat. He squeezed his slender body, deepening the kiss with more intensity. He couldn't resist the sensation. He felt he should ask more about Khaled's plans, why they had to go down this path. He decided not to ask questions that would end up in arguments, because, in truth, he just wanted to enjoy the warm lips of the elf in front of him, willing to go further. Several minutes passed until they finally caught their breath. Their hearts still pounded intensely from the emotion of sharing the moment. The other's hands moved down to the gorget of his armor, then to his arms, seeking contact with his skin, finding it by holding his hands.
— Thank you. — Khaled's word was genuine. The mage knew how Liandre was being helpful and giving his best for the mission, and in the end, he would betray him, as had been done to himself. He wouldn't give the warrior a choice; he couldn't do that, because in the final moment, he knew he wouldn't be chosen. Everyone would choose to live their lives in peace and not sacrifice themselves for a greater good. It wouldn't be different with the mercenary; he didn't trust in his altruism to willingly give up the fragment if he knew the end would be to find Velinn in the waters of the underworld.
They continued on until they found the road ahead. Finally, the mercenary would be able to get his bearings. The train track shouldn't be far if they followed parallel to the main road.
— They used to call it the King's Road. — Khaled commented.
— And now it's Bravaterra's Path.