13th of Ash, 4621
The day after had felt so surreal. Eira had been asleep when he returned to the fortress, which he was glad to find. It was good that she was able to sleep soundly after everything she’d been through, but the day after? She spoke nothing of the night before. It was as though they’d never spoken, she’d never propositioned him, and he’d never offered to eliminate the one that had harmed her. But he had. Mateo was no more; not so much as a stain remained in that back alley.
He was proud of his works, certainly so, but without thanks or any sort of acknowledgment from the woman he’d killed for? He couldn’t help but feel somewhat… Neglected? Overlooked? It was a difficult feeling to describe, the weight in his chest, but it made him small; worthless in his own eyes.
It was the day after she’d danced around the topic on the morning that followed Mateo’s assassination. It had been two days since the mage had died by the Rathor’s hand. He was busy, as he often was, scrubbing away at the floors of the rampart, where gunpowder and soot coated the ground around the cannons. His thoughts remained on his fellow slave, who still had yet to mention anything on the events of the night prior. She knew he was Dranoch; a man-eater. She knew he possessed Blood Magic and even knew his real name after that night. He’d entrusted a lot to her, and though she’d trusted him too, he was still left in the dark of what would come next for them.
Before he could think too much about it, however, the door to the rampart opened ahead of him. Arkash looked up from the soot that blackened his hands and set his lazy gaze on Eira, who briefly made eye contact with the Rathor across the way before she broke it to close the door behind her. Her eyes didn’t meet his again as she made her way to the next Cannon, set down her broom and pale of water. Arkash had already swept up the ramparts though; he preferred to complete one task entirely before moving on to the next, whereas she preferred to complete each station entirely before moving on to the next. He hadn’t anticipated they would work together that day, so he went about what was becoming his regular routine. That drew a shake of her head and something of a gentle smile, which he caught.
“…Sorry,” he started with a call, and she looked to meet his eyes without that smile. “I didn’t think you’d be up here today,” came his excuse.
“It’s okay,” she voiced her forgiveness. “I wasn’t really in the mood to sweep anyway,” She explained with a nod. “Chantelle and I got done cleaning the forge early, so I came up here,” she explained.
Arkash offered a smile of understanding, then returned to his task without saying anything. She wouldn’t speak on the events that took place a couple of nights ago, he’d fully prepared himself for that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t at least hope that she’d have some sort of change of heart and decide to talk about it. The thought that he might have tarnished what they once shared began to loom over his mind in the moments that lead up to her call.
“Hey, Derek?” She asked, and Arkash stopped his scrubbing of the wrought iron weapon to look over to her, wordlessly acknowledging her ask. “I’m sorry I’ve been… Aloof, I don’t mean to ignore you,” she began.
“It’s alright,” Arkash quickly returned, eager to forgive her despite the thoughts that swam in his head. “It’s not easy, I’m sure,” he offered with a sort of open-ended trail to his words. She bit. “Well no, but I shouldn’t shut you out. That’s not fair.” The woman further put the blame on herself. “I’ve just… Never killed someone before,” she spoke with hesitation. “I feel horrible, despite everything he did, I...” She stopped again, seeming to think to herself before she returned her gaze to him, eyes red and watery.
“-Some people deserve it,” Arkash assured. She held her silence while she continued to look at him, and Arkash continued. “Not everything can just be fixed with words, you know? If everyone just listened sometimes, it might be enough. But that’s never going to happen.”
Eira remained quiet while the Rathor spoke on a scale grander than she’d anticipated.
“No one cares. No one has the time to care, and no one really sees why so nothing’s ever going to change. If you want something fixed, you’ve gotta see it done yourself, you can’t just hope problems like Mateo will go away.” He almost felt like he was scolding her, but for what? Doubting herself? After a moment’s pause, he shook his head. “…That sounds a lot meaner than I meant it too, I’m sorry.”
Eira laughed a breath at his doubt and shook her head. “No, you’re right… It’s not like the Halamire will look after me, right?”
The Rathor put his rag down, hard. “Right!” He exclaimed, pointing a finger. Eira got it, she really understood his mad ravings. “You’ve gotta get yours, no one else will.” He watched her while he continued. “And when someone has the guts to come after you, best you can do is rip them out. Don’t give anyone a second chance to hurt you,” he spoke with a nod, then pressed his rag back to the dirtied heavy artillery. “It sounds crazy, but that’s what it’s like out there. But you probably already know that.”
Eira nodded. “…That’s how the Remedy thinks, too,” she added with a shake of her head. “My dad always used to talk like that; getting his own freedom, fighting the Court of Dusk, Justice outside the law.”
Her father was an Ebonknight? “…He has a pretty good reason to, from what I’ve heard-.”
“-Had,” she added. “He had a pretty good reason to; he’s gone now.”
The rath pulled his lips in a frown, then scraped some more hardened soot from the cannon before he paused again. “I’m sorry." He didn't know what else to say; nothing really healed that sort of pain, he knew.
Eira shook her head with the beginnings of a gentle smile. "No need," she spoke as she too got on her knees, then put 'rag to wrought iron. "He died doing what he loved, fighting. I've made my peace with it all."
Arkash cast his gaze across the way as she did, his eyes watched her as she got to work, again, soaking the filth to loosen it as she often did. Arkash began to smile, despite the darkness of the topic. It was nice to be able to talk to someone about their issues for a change, it didn't make him feel like some wreck or a broken thing. if anything, he was helping someone else by listening to them... He thought. Maybe she didn't like talking about her past?
He didn't know how she did it, but he often felt weak with her. It was as though he was lost a lot of the time, stumbling through the dark in search of something that might make sense, but he couldn't find it. How did she have so big an impact on him in so little time? Was he really that desperate? He'd so scarcely shown others his full self, but she'd seen all of him. From his true form to his blood magic, she knew all the secrets he carried... And seemed to accept him all the same.
It was nice, not having to hide who he was. It was comfortable, if not for the way she made his heart beat faster and the way in which she made him feel stupid, weak, and lazy. More than that was the loneliness. It was as though she accentuated his solitude whenever she wasn't there, emphasized and emboldened, he began to realize just how alone he was in the world. But then, when he was with her, he didn't consider those things at all. Her presence alone struck the rath high and low, inside and out. She was just a slight thing, but the power and sway she held over him was immense and subtle.
In a strange way, he liked that. He was glad that she, and she alone, could make him feel so wildly at any given time. The only regret he had was that he couldn't tell her about all the things she made him feel. By extension of his stupidity, weakness, and laziness, he also felt worthless, disgusting, unworthy. It was as though he'd be mocked and shamed if she knew the depth of his feelings, his desire. But why not? She only had one lifetime. Was it too soon? Considering everything she'd been through, it was entirely possible. But what harm was there in telling her what sort of effect she had on him?
"Eira," he called and drew her gaze with a turn of her head. She replied with an inquisitive hum and looked him in the eye. "I..." He started, and some crushing pressure seized his chest. He kneeled there, wordless in his open mouth. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say 'I like talking to you'. He had to divert the conversation... Somehow. Anything just to save face. "...Wanted to know how you're doing."
"Oh," she returned after the rathor got his words out. "Well, I'm okay. I'm still a little shaken up about the whole thing, but I'm okay."
Arkash nodded; Eira was awful strong to recover from something so traumatic so quickly. If anything, she felt a lot like her old self, like nothing had ever happened in the first place. "Good," he returned, pressing the rag with a little more force on one of the more stubborn pieces of hardened soot. "... I was really worried about you, you know," he confessed. If he was fully honest, he wouldn't have spoken as though he wasn't worried anymore, that his worries were in the past. "I'd hate to know that you're struggling," he added, pausing his scrubbing. He cast a glance to her, only to find that she was looking back at him with a curious gaze, as though she anticipated more. That look alone was enough to coax more from the Rath. "-Like, I really want to see you happy, thriving."
She smiled at the gesture, then cast her gaze to the floor with an almost wistful sadness. Arkash's heart sank. Had he said something wrong? "I'm always struggling, Arkash," she confessed in a mixture of bitter and sweet. His heart skipped a beat at the call of his name from her lips but sank to know she was struggling.
"W-why?" he stammered, tripping over a W of all things. He cleared his throat to save face, then swallowed hard. "Sorry, I... swallowed a bug."
Eira returned a smile and a brief laugh, the kind of smile that creased the corners of her eyes and showed her teeth. His stomach tied in knots. "I'm not happy here," she admitted. "I'd give anything to get out of her," she began. "...I'd even take my chances with a mark."
Arkash furrowed his brow. "...of control? Like Magic?"
A nod followed his question, and she answered "Yeah," in full.
His confusion only grew, and he tilted his head to relay that. "...Okay, what do you mean 'take your chances', and how would that help you escape?" To him, it seemed like a random thing to mention.
That same look of confusion came to her features as she looked upon him, then recognition flashed. "Oh, well," she began to explain. "Here, those that survive the gift of a mark of control are thought to be blessed by their god, Ulen. Like he's somehow the reason they survived... Foolish if you ask me."
"...What do you mean survive?" Arkash asked in return. He understood the religious aspect of it, but what did she mean surviving a mark?
She gave a half squint and a smile, as though Arkash was meant to be joking, but his features remained serious. "...You ARE kidding, right? You're a mage, after all."
His eyes did some searching, thinking back on his initiation. He was suddenly assaulted by a flurry of gashes in his scales, all at random. Did that happen in every initiation or was it just blood magic? "...You have a chance to die when you get a mark?"
Eira nodded. "...You didn't know that? It's a coin toss on your first mark, but with every mark after that, you have less and less chance of dying... or worse."
"Worse?" Arkash asked, pursing his lips.
"Yeah, some marks have weird side effects for those that fail that aren't necessarily dying, but permanently life-altering," she began to explain. "I'm not sure what your magic is called so I can't say much about it, but with mentalism, for example, those that fail to take the mark turn into husks, like empty shells of who they used to be. They have no wants or needs and don't even feed themselves, they don't even care when they're starving or being attacked."
Arkash only half-listened to the explanation. The part that caught him as odd was that she didn't know what magic he possessed. How? Was it because his blood often looked black unless it was in the light? She'd only seen him shape and mold with his own blood, it was entirely possible that she didn't realize that he was manipulating his blood. Regardless, he gave a gentle nod. "...I see, that makes sense..." he returned, withdrawn unto himself somewhat.
Awkwardly, Eira smiled, then returned to her task, as if she was waiting for some other response that never came. Arkash didn't seem to notice, too far drawn within himself to consider what her endgame was.
