2412, Xavem 25, Kindreth

Simple sailor, tailors churn, a familiar voice sang. A woman dressed in a black, tailored dress hung white sheets on a single black wire. The sound of water dripping from the washed sheets was loud like the drums during Jered Sansane. Footsteps, horses neighing, and fowls clucking could be heard through the thin, wooden walls. Still, the song floated above all the noise.

Keel to drag, sails to turn, the song continued. He knew all the words in Keijula, Ylanenla, and in their dialect. Somehow, he couldn't open his mouth to sing along. It was this song that his mother liked to sing to him to sleep no matter how many times he complained that it's too gory.

There she was. Riza Zeilran. The head of the servants quarters in the Imperial Palace. The only mother he had ever known.

Her long, thin hair was as black as he remembered. It was always pinned at the top of her head and stilled by a white cap all servants wear. She only let it out of its strict bun when she was letting it dry after washing. He used to look forward to her letting her hair dry because, by then, he would get to brush it down. Then, she would sing to him as he did so.

Riza. She loved singing. He saw her every time the local theater troupe went home from their expeditions around the island. They would sing publicly in Lanteglos and his mother always made it a point that they're there. Perhaps, if the Imperial Palace hadn't claimed her life since she was born, she would've been with the troupe, singing her heart out and given praise for her talent.

Seas rage, storms and thunder burn, the voice turned hoarse that if he could cover his ears, he would've. The temperature dropped as ice cackled as it coated his veins. The singing distorted into an ominous ring. The voices were turned backwards. The words clawed at his heart like they're after revenge. He tried to turn around or to call his mother who still hung sheets on the wire.

Fool's quest, a fool's gold to earn. His mother turned. Instead of the sweet, carefree smile he used to see on his mother's face, he was greeted with a manic grin. The words of the song blurred in his ears. His heart pounded along with their forceful grit..

Simple sailor, corpses lie in view, the song continued. The notes dropped lower and lower as opposed to how his memory perceived it. Memory...

Keel to build, planks to skew. He took a step back as his mother forgot the sheets and instead stalked towards him with her arms outstretched. Her manic smile had turned into a questioning look as she mouthed the words to the song.

Skies quell, rain roars true. His throat closed up as the memory kicked in. This dress. The sheets. The song. He knew what's going to happen. He knew...

No.

His hands flew to a dagger that miraculously appeared by his belt. No. He resisted but his heart clenched with pain he never thought he'd feel again. No. He was cursed to do it. He was cursed to do everything they say. They said...

He squeezed his eyes shut. He would never do it even if it kills him. He would never—

He gasped as his eyes flew open. His hands were around his mother's neck. The dagger glinted with malice not far away. It was just within his reach. The floor looked horrible with his mother's blood. Had he...? No. He wouldn't.

His mother's dark eyes bored into his own, reflecting a face he had come to hate. It was the face that he saw every time he closed his eyes. A face of a murderer, a traitor, a liar. It's the face of a sinner. He glared at his arms. Stay the hell away from his mother's throat. Please. He fought.

And fought.

His mother grinned up at him with teeth elongating into fangs. Blood spewed in every direction—coating his hands, his clothes, his face. The pain in his heart heightened upon sensing his hesitation. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't...

Fool's love, a fool's gift to you. His mother sang the last time as his own body lunged for the dagger discarded on the floor and plunged it deep, deep down. Right into his mother's throat. Blood painted the sheets red.

A strangled cry tore off June's throat as he bolted upright. His face dripped with blood. No...not blood. He wiped at his forehead and discovered that it's only sweat. His breath came in heavy rasps; his heartbeat was an erratic rhythm in his ears. He rested his head against a wall, closed his eyes, and took a few breaths. That was all a dream. A dream...

It's a memory as well, wasn't it?

He wrenched his eyes open before the actual memory of what happened that night flashed before his lids. He shouldn't...

But he should. He should face it one day, one way or another.

"Oh, you're awake," a familiar voice said from the side of the bed. Was he inside a room in the first place? Slowly, he lifted his eyes to a girl wearing a simple dress, with khaki hair, and...warm, brown eyes. It's...

It shouldn't be possible, right? She's...

"Stop looking at me like you've seen a ghost," the girl said. This shouldn't be possible. Was he still dreaming? Who would he kill this time? Would he...?

"Ravalee, give the poor man a room to breathe, would you?" a stern woman's voice exploded from the doorway. Oh, apparently, there was a door to the room. He's getting rusty. Calm. Remember the training.

First, self-assessment. His breath shook as he examined his limbs. All complete, luckily. His shoulder was bound with white bandages with his wound underneath no doubt cleaned. He touched his nose. Relief washed through his gut when he felt it to be there, albeit a little sore. His head felt like a hollow vase but he'd live. He should.

He wore a loose tunic drenched with sweat and trousers that he didn't remember owning. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the long strands of his unkempt black hair. Not white.

Next, surroundings. Where was he? He spied a small, square table pushed against the wall, a jug of water and a cup atop it. Walls made of wooden planks enclosed the whole space. They were bare but judging from the charred marks and the peeling carpet of dirt in some patches, they had been here awhile. He must be in some type of abandoned house from the fact that there was an adjacent room next to this. The only question left now was which land this house stood upon.

Lastly, threats. What could potentially kill him in this room? His eyes landed on the girl and his breath hitched yet again. The older woman by the door stared at them with a frown. "Ravalee?" the older woman called.

The girl snapped up. "Oh, in a while," she waved her hand. "I'm going to be here in case his...dreams pop up again."

The older woman sighed and let go of the knob. "Hurry up, Cyrdel's almost done preparing breakfast," As the door closed, the woman added, "We shouldn't say too long in one place."

The door shut, leaving him and Ravalee alone in the room. His recent memories kicked in and...

He whirled around, straining his eyes by looking for his things and— "Xanthy's on the living room," Ravalee's voice tore through his panic. "The chalice is safe."

He clutched his chest and blew a breath. So Xanthy wasn't...

Wait.

"Did you say you're Ravalee?" he said. His tongue and his jaw, in general, felt weird. Did he break it or something?

"Technically, I didn't," the girl replied. "But yes, I am Ravalee."

June wagged a hesitant finger towards her face. "But why are you, um..."

"Speaking?" Ravalee suggested. June nodded, mum.

Ravalee sat at the foot of June's bed. "When Xanthy surrendered her soul to the Soulcleanser, her voice went to me."

Ah, June must have been running too long without food because he didn't understand a thing. "What?" His stomach growling cut whatever Ravalee's going to say. He averted his eyes, expecting to see his hands covered in warm, freshly-spilled blood. They weren't.

Ravalee chuckled. "Come on," she stood up and trudged towards the door. "We'll explain everything through breakfast."

June edged off the bed and swung his legs off. When he stood up, he almost fell back down as nausea pulsed in his temples and ate away at his gut. Ravalee's arm shot out to steady him.

"Careful," Ravalee said. "We don't want to have you more banged up than when we found you."

June gave her a curt nod before limping towards the door as he had apparently twisted his ankle. Everything was so sore that even the slightest bump hurt. He and Ravalee burst out of the room and he caught a glimpse of the whole house.

It was just like the circular ones he had been through since he made it to Depandes. The only difference was that, instead of stone, it was made of wood. As in, everything was made of wood.

Early sunlight poured from square windows framing walls to his left and the one ahead of him, right above the counter where a faucet and a stove sat. It's amusing how even this house has flowing water like the technology he thought to only have existed in the Junction City.

A sound of a chair skidding against wood was loud in his already ringing ears, drawing his attention to a small circular table ahead of him. Seated on two of the chairs were no other than the Alkaran heir and a woman who had red-gold hair he glimpsed once in Depandes. Who was she again?

"We couldn't get enough potions in this part of the city without being sniffed out," the older woman said. "I hope you're eating graspel meat."

June's brain was foggy as he pulled up a chair and dropped himself in it. "Graspel...meaning?"

"Flesh-eating sheep from the border, yes," Cyrdel rested his elbows atop the table and twined his fingers together. He gave a humorless laugh as June's blood drained from his face at the mention of the monstrous sheep. "I'm guessing not."

"No, no," June shook his head, bringing another bout of nausea in his senses. Airene passed him a slice of bread just as he took a seat beside the Alkaran heir. He muttered his thanks before turning to Cyrdel. "I'm hungry enough to eat a whole one by myself. Thank you."

The heir smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Did something happen? "Eat up," Cyrdel gestured towards a steaming pot of stew propped in the center of the table. "I made sure to sprinkle salt on the stew this time."

Ravalee snorted. "You better," she said as she dropped into a seat next to June. Her voice sounded so much like Xanthy's it hurt June just by listening. "The last time was awful."

"I'm learning," Cyrdel waved his spoon into Ravalee's face. "Try cooking next time."

"If I can figure out how to turn on the stove, why not?" Ravalee stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck out his own.

"Children, stop doing that in front of the food," the older woman chided with her stern voice. "June, eat some more."

June merely stared as the older woman dumped more graspel meat on his wooden plate. The bread slowly soaked up some of the thick sauce. He gripped the spoon when the woman finished pouring the contents of the pot into his plate. He took a tentative bite and his eyebrows shot up at the sudden explosion of flavor inside his mouth.

Soon, he was shoveling food inside his mouth almost as fast as Xanthy did, barely having enough time to chew the meat thoroughly. He had forgotten what cooked food even tasted like. The warmth that traveled down his throat as he swallowed his food was enough to bring tears in his eyes. He recalled that he hadn't had a cooked meal after...

His joy died when he remembered who it was that handled the cooking when he was a child. Why does everything have to go back to her?

He cleared his throat as he swallowed the last piece of bread he ever dared to ask for. "What happened while I was out?" he asked. His mouth was thick with the taste of the stew. Turns out, graspel meat could be delicious. "Where are we?"

"Airene, mind starting us off?" Cyrdel turned to the older woman.

The woman, Airene, blew a breath and braced the table's rim with both hands. "We're on the outskirts of the Apothecary's City, Flaron," she cast a weary glance at their surroundings. "Or what was left of it."

June's stomach soured as it churned. The food he ate threatened to go back out of his throat. He took a deep breath to balance his nausea and his emotions. "You came to Diven to...rescue me?"

"I was tracking the Virtakios and the chalice, in reality," Ravalee said before looking him up and down. "No offense."

"None taken," June replied. He knew full well that no one would even care about him if not for Xanthy and the chalice. "You said something about Xanthy surrendering her soul to the Soulcleanser. What does that mean?"

Cyrdel's eyes darkened but June didn't have enough energy to wonder what's wrong with him. Ravalee appeared oblivious of it. She tapped her spoon against her plate. "All Xanthy told me when she finally figured out a way to connect our minds was that she was going to exchange her soul for yours," she looked straight into June's eyes. It really felt like he was talking to Xanthy all over again.

"She told me that her soul will probably be in the chalice and that other people could figure out that secret and use the throne to access her soul from there," Ravalee continued. "She asked me to find you since you probably have no idea what you're going to do once you wake up. She also asked me to protect you and the chalice."

June's mouth dried up. "That means..."

"You did good in concealing the chalice's magic," Airene interjected. "But that's not nearly enough to fully hide it from the Synketros and Cardovia's noses. They know that something happened with the Virtakios but they don't know that she's still around."

June bit the inside of his cheek and traced a circle at the table's surface. "What do you propose?" he said. "As you all witnessed when I was getting beaten up, Kymalin Iaro, Marin Draswist, and April Sylkrana are after me."

"Do you know what they want?" Cyrdel's voice had lost all of its brightness and energy since June last met him in Diven. Now June really wondered what had happened. The heir had been particularly dark and reserved throughout their whole meeting.

"Marin must have been working for Cardovia, still, and she was sent to retrieve or at least find out what happened to the Virtakios," June folded his hands together. "Kymalin Iaro must still be trying desperately to regain the Heiress's trust after her failed stunt in Carleon. And April..." He stared at his hands again. It took a lot in him to not marvel at the fact that they weren't stained with red every time he did. "April's after my life to get to the Imperial throne. If she succeeds to the throne, Synketros will gain control of the Imperial Crown."

The table was silent save for the twittering birds outside the window flitting from tree to tree and rustling leaves in their flight. June counted silent seconds in his head until Cyrdel spoke. June got to a hundred and five. "All the more we should stay away from the Synketros's clutches," Cyrdel crossed his arms and leaned back against his seat. He hadn't even touched his food. "It's as if ravaging Depandes was not enough."

"They are violent, greedy, and with a goal to accomplish," Airene said almost like she's chiding Cyrdel for not paying attention in class. "One royal city will not be enough. They are out for blood. They will do everything they can to get their hands on it."

June blinked. "What?"

Ravalee regarded Cyrdel through her periphery before turning to June. "Alkara is under the Sovereign's control now. She...led her army against the Capital, ransacked the villages, and...claimed the Alkaran throne as their own."

June looked to Cyrdel who remained frowning. Was that why...? "Airene had to smuggle us out of several borders like exotic meat after that," Cyrdel continued Ravalee's story. "I don't know why we're back in Flaron again."

"Because we need to get you two into safety and the Ice Capital is the only place for me to do that," Airene snapped. "We don't have the luxury to be picky this time around, Cyrdel."

Cyrdel rolled his eyes, his bronze spectacles sliding down his nose. He pushed it back up with enough force for the pads to dig into the bridge of his nose. "That is a state secret, Airene," his tone dropped into a honed edge.

"Last I checked, your state spat you out," Airene retorted. Ravalee's head snapped back and forth between the two.

"Watch your words around me," Cyrdel drew up his seat and straightened his back. "You're not my mother."

"I am the one keeping you alive, Your Highness," Airene hissed through her teeth. "You watch your words around me. I could easily let you out of here and let the armies devour you."

"Stop!" Ravalee stood up and braced her hands on the table, her chair making a grating noise against the floor as it slid backward making June flinch. "We are going to the Ice Capital because it is our only choice in staying alive, nothing more," Ravalee said. "Stop whining like babies and figure out how we'll get there without being sensed by anyone."

"Get to where?" June interjected. Three heads turned to him, all bearing blazing eyes.

Airene squared her shoulders and dropped to the backrest of her seat. "We're going to the Ice Sprites' underground stronghold."

June blinked. "Ice sprites? But they're—"

"Extinct, yes," Airene finished for him. "Contrary to popular belief, the Ice Sprites are alive and thriving. They're right below us and I know how to get there."

June resisted the urge to actually look down or tap his foot against the floorboards. He cleared his throat. "With all the forces after you, you're choosing to go there? How did you even find out?"

Airene rolled her shoulders. "Why do you think the Brownies have two territories?" she said. "It's not because we're prolific at childbirth. It's because of this."

At the mention of childbirth, Cyrdel and Ravalee turned red. Airene noticed it and waved her hand. "Oh, you young birds will eventually get there, trust me. Your souls are going to be hungry for it—"

"And that's not the point," June cut in as he took note of the couple's burning faces.

Airene was clearly trying not to smile as she nodded. "And that's not the point."

"What Airene was trying to say was that the Ice Sprites, right before they went underground, made the royal family of brownies pledge to keep this a state secret and pass it down to the next generation so we could take better care of the ground above them," Cyrdel said before casting a withering look at Airene's direction. "And this fairy right here went and stuck her nose into things that are not her business and was now proposing we endanger a whole community of striving fairies by coming to them."

"If they're going to sit out a war, the war's coming knocking at their door eventually," Airene gestured towards Cyrdel. "The least we could do is to warm them."

"I could easily do that if I had the official line directly to them," Cyrdel shook his head. "We could have avoided a whole amount of trouble if we could just go back to the Palace so I could do that."

"Which you will not," Airene replied. "I am not risking losing you because of your stupidity."

"If I'm understanding correctly," June butted in before the tension could rise again. "We are deciding whether to go into this Ice Capital or not? Going there means we are endangering them and not going there means being in danger ourselves. Is that it?"

Cyrdel blew a breath. "Pretty much."

June scratched his scalp. His nails came out ridden with soot and dirt. A bath—that's what he needed. "If they're hiding from the island, don't they have some kind of espionage or information-gathering team that could tell that there's a disturbance on the flow of things aboveground?"

"That's the thing," Ravalee said. "They stopped reaching out two months before the Synketros Raid in Alkara. We don't know if they're still caught up to date on the things around here or have shut their communication off altogether. The reason I agreed to this risky plan is because now we have something we couldn't afford to be in enemy hands if we ever fall."

"The chalice," June breathed.

Airene nodded. "The chalice. Ravalee does have a point. If we continue to run, should we ever fall, we don't have anyone to entrust it to."

"And going to the Ice sprites will somehow help us?" Cyrdel argued.

"Going to the Ice Sprites will give us some access to their armies," Airene said. "That could somehow buy us time to ride this war out without needing to give Xanthy's soul away."

"You meant to use Ice Sprites as a shield then," Cyrdel's eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. "They're not some lives you get to play with."

Airene frowned. "That sentiment will get you killed out there, young one. Believe me when I say that that sentiment is valid and ideal. But nothing in life ever really is strictly right or wrong," the older brownie regarded June as if he might have something to do with all of this. "Most of our actions are in the gray areas. Whatever we do, there's someone bound to get hurt, something we need to sacrifice. In the midst of those choices, which will you choose? The one that saves the present or the one that saves the future?"

The table was silent again.

Airene must have been as conflicted as Cyrdel in making this choice. By going to the ice sprites, they would be bringing the war to their doorstep. But in the process, they would be protecting the Virtakios, whose soul resides in a chalice among June's things. If they didn't go to the Ice Capital, it just makes them living targets that the entire world could pick on.

Airene's words reflected back to him. In the midst of those choices, which will you choose? The one that saves the present or the one that saves the future? What if they couldn't save both? Would it be held against them? Heroism and duty rarely had enough good fruits and June wasn't prepared to pay any price that will be exacted from him.

"So the final decision is?" June asked aloud.

Airene gave one look at Cyrdel who just nodded knowing he lost the argument. "We go to the Ice Capital."