2412, Iclis 06, Briss

Being out of the heavy armor he wore every day was concerning, at least to Ariam. He walked alongside merchant carts and the riding animals snorting in different puffs. The absence of the metallic clink with his every step brought a static dread in his gut. Maybe it's the paranoia talking, or maybe the mere insanity of this whole thing finally got into him.

He kept looking behind him to see if someone followed him since leaving the Royalty region. As usual, he found no one. If anything, he would spot a human or a half-blood in the thickening crowd of fairies trudging through the route he found himself in.

The trees towered over him, bearing leaves of different colors, shapes, and disposition. Names continued to elude him, but he was satisfied by merely craning his neck up at them and admiring how they crowded towards the sky in hopes of getting the most sunlight. It made the forest floor dimmer but also colder. Better than what Ariam had lived through in the borders of Cardina.

However, being used to blistering temperatures brought more problems. While he wasn't sweating even though he had been walking for hours, the deeper he went inside the forest following the trading path, the crisper the wind became until it bit against his skin, leaving angry prickles. His teeth started chattering an hour ago, and now that he's almost to the end of the route before peeling off into the heart of this current city or to another, he had given up all decency and stuck his hands underneath his armpits just to keep the chills at bay. The number of odd looks he got from the varichriais flitting by were something he'd rather not count.

He should have packed a shawl or something. Not that he owned one, nor the thought of owning one ever crossed his mind, but...still. The worst part was he couldn't even blame the young King for his misery. His Majesty...well, Tobin, told Ariam he was free to decline the task and stay in Cardina. Ariam, bogged by the possible distrust of his king, shook his head and promised he'd get the job done, and with good results. Of course, with both of them unaccustomed to the life beyond the borders of Cardina, Tobin wouldn't tell him to bring something to keep warm as well.

If there was anyone to blame for this whole fiasco, it was the Sovereign. Without her meddling into the scene of Tobin establishing a dynasty, they wouldn't need to do half the things they were doing instead of solving the societal issues propagated by the preceding monarchs. If Synketros hadn't entered the picture, Tobin would have had a clearer way to becoming a good King.

And that's why Ariam chose to serve Tobin when the shard fairy's army—representing Synketros, mind—brought a wide-eyed shepherd inside, shaking like a newborn dagrine foal. When he was chosen as the new Captain of the Guard, he spent a week telling himself he's got the most coveted job inside the palace, one that most people would die and cheat their neighbors for.

Some part of him believed he was chosen because he had displayed the right qualities for the designation; but he had seen how Tobin's gaze swept past their platoon that day—how empty and clueless it was. So, the logical part of Ariam's mind told him he was where he was because of luck and luck alone.

He hasn't decided if it was a good thing or not.

But Tobin had the qualities of a good king; and while Ariam had not served in the Royalty region for long, he had his ideas on what he thought a proper monarch was. Tobin had the heart for it, maybe some of the wits too, but he lacked the foundational knowledge. The most basic things one would expect a royal would know, or at least, have heard of, blanked out in Tobin's head most of the time. That's why Ariam stuck by his side. If Ariam couldn't wish for himself a proper king which would help fix their territory, maybe he could make one. As much as it brushed against his morals, the opportunity presented itself, leaving him with no choice but to take it. Who knew when such a time in Ariam's lifetime would come again? Or would it even come again?

Ariam concluded, then, that his duty wasn't only to make sure Tobin was well-protected; he had to ensure Tobin would be able to grow into a monarch who cared about his people and wasn't one to covet power and riches at the expense of the weak. And even before the shepherd took the throne, Ariam already saw the slivers of it.

That's also part of the reason why he couldn't refuse most of Tobin's orders and whims, no matter how absurd they were and no matter what kind of mess the king got himself into.

There's also the matter of Tobin making sure most of the families of soldiers belonging to Ariam's platoon were safe from the purges by giving them immunity as only the Crown could afford. This way, Synketros couldn't use them against any of Tobin's potential allies and the soldiers could do their jobs without any worries.

And now, Ariam was being sent to seek help regarding Synketros' hold on Cardina. They both didn't have any idea where to begin the search, but the scouts followed up on the report by saying the culprit had been a varichria. It set Ariam's course towards Narfalk, the home of the winged fairies living in trees.

He used to laugh at the notion of people living high up in the trees, with their feet never touching the ground. What would they do should the wind blow stronger? Would they drop like flies should their wings be struck with a needle? This was why most humans couldn't understand fairies and their strange ways. They're just too...different.

But as soon as Ariam stepped off the trade route's influence and strode deeper into the forest, his jaw hung slightly open at the sight greeting him.

Thousands of houses tucked between trunks and branches as thick as a normal log back home peppered the canopies. The sun had long set now, plunging the entire forest floor with the rays from the moons, and with the lights hanging from the awnings and setting the inside of the houses afire, the undergrowth looked as if the stars had descended from the heavens and burned brighter. And while it remained cold, the sight of flickering flames and the undeterred awe blooming in his gut helped drive most of it away.

That, or maybe he had just gotten used to it.

Shadows danced beyond him, cowering from the lights by tucking themselves deeper into the undergrowth. Ariam summoned his magic to the surface, and by speaking a simple maxia spell, summoned a glowing ball of flame into his palm. He didn't dare wave it around like a torch against the night in fear of setting the whole forest on fire, opting, instead, to hold his arm out to lead his way. All around him, the various hoots and caws of night critters joined the cloud of muffled chatter ringing across the entire forest. He never pegged the varichriais as creatures of the night, but from the looks of it, they were.

He plunged on, keeping his magic stable on his palm. His own shadow bled from his feet and stretched towards the darkness chewing at the ends of his light. He didn't really know what he was looking for, but he's down for somewhere to rest his legs. A whole day of walking could tire a person out. Perhaps, it'd be better to hire a cart or buy a dagrine on the way back.

Ariam frowned and lowered his arm, bringing the tip of the magical flame closer to his chin. Wouldn't hiring a cart or procuring a dagrine cost something? He'd rather not spend the versal Tobin supplied him with on things that didn't matter. But, if the journey proved to be a success and he found the immediate need to be back in the Royalty region, maybe he'd consider it.

Maybe.

Instead, he craned his neck to the sky and studied the specks of lanterns burning overhead. As far as his eyes could squint, there were lights. With the trees appearing to go on forever, maybe there were varichria houses in Calaris?

A chuckle bled off Ariam's lips. He needed rest. The travel has pulled at more than his weary muscles.

But to find a place...

His gaze scanned his immediate radius. Trunks, bushes, grass, random bird, shed, more trees, bushes, grass—

Wait. Shed.

With renewed vigor, Ariam strode towards the mass of planks, which were dark bars underneath the faint moonslight and the shadows of the canopy. He was about to knock and request for a place to stay when chatter and the sound of glass clinking rang from the inside. A faint glow peeked from the gaps between the wooden floorboards and the door. This was...

A tavern?

Ariam opened the door and ducked inside. A barrage of faces, wings, and wooly garments flashed into his periphery. The meaningless prattle rose in volume, blasting into his senses like an unruly merchant cart. He gritted his teeth and crossed his arms tighter over his chest. He stalked towards the customary counter at the far side of the room. Under the bright amber glow of the lanterns hanging on giant nails stuck into boards surrounding the room, the translucent liquid poured into cups hewn out of some type of gourd shells looked more yellow.

He wasn't much of a drinker given the nature of his job and his position, but he positioned himself on the single unoccupied stool in front of the counter. "One cup of your best, please," he held up a finger to signify his order in case the tender didn't understand Ylanenla. "I will pay."

The varichria behind the counter scowled but didn't say anything else. Within seconds, the same hollow, gourd cup slid across the surface towards the arms he propped over it. As an answer, he flicked a small nosa dryde on the table. It was enough to probably pay for the drink and not make him stand out as someone loaded at the same time.

The versal vanished into the tender's pocket as quickly as it took for Ariam to bring it out of his. Times were hard everywhere, it seemed. Or this tavern was just run by greedier owners. Either way, Ariam must gather every shred of information he has while figuring out where to rest for the night.

Hunkering into his cup, he strained his ears to the chatter around him. Most of the words were in Keijula, the language spoken in the fairy territories, so he could do little eavesdropping in that area. When he tuned in to the talk happening somewhere to his left, he caught traces of words he recognized in his own native language.

Signs...bulk...soldiers...Narfalk...

Ariam closed his eyes and turned his head so that his ear was directly into their table. He watched them from his periphery, noting their ears weren't rounded, and their faces and hair colors being of shades and styles which wouldn't fly by without issue in Cardina. Hell, he had peeked through the reports the Civil Guards passed along from the purges to the Crown, and "having unnatural hair color" was considered a crime.

They couldn't be humans, but they spoke in a mixture of Ylanenla and Keijula for Ariam to be able to get the gist of their conversation. They could only be half-bloods, which begged another question—how in Emeria's name did they end up in Narfalk?

He pursed his lips and shook his head. He didn't come here to ponder where people should be and how they ended up in the same place as him. What he should be focusing on was the content of the gossip the group talked about. From the words he recognized, it seemed there was a huge fathering of an army against Narfalk.

When asked what the possible reason was, a female member of the table scoffed. "I'm sure it was because of that thieving traitor," she said, tilting her chin to the sky in derision. "Couldn't even keep his hands to himself. He just had to make sure he drags us down with him."

The man next to her raised an eyebrow. "Other rumors say otherwise," he scratched his hairy chin. "He may have set free slaves or something of the sort—the merchants didn't really clarify—and caused chaos in this evil cartel's ranks. I'd take that over finding out a tyrant would be the High Queen next."

Ariam's eyebrows knitted. A person causing chaos at a cartel? Couldn't that be...the person the scouts were referring to, the one who wreaked havoc in Synketros and kept the Sovereign busy for some time? Ariam should thank him, then. Because if not for his schemes, he and Tobin would have been caught in their risky escapades earlier.

Before the conversation could move elsewhere, Ariam gripped his cup and strode towards his choice table. He dropped into the empty seat next to the man who just spoke and leaned his elbows against the rim of the table as if he was part of the group all along. Most of them didn't even care and proceeded to sip ale from their cups.

"Do you know where to find him?" Ariam asked, eyeing the people around the table. All of them had varied hair colors and styles, different eye colors, and an even more diverse set of clothes. "I happen to have business with him by the border."

The woman, still having her arms crossed over her chest, stared Ariam from head to where his torso stopped in level with the table. "I wouldn't know," she said. "Try the people below Aunt Orkin's tavern. They know how to find people of all sorts."

That's a direction, at least. Ariam ducked his head at them, and after realizing he wasn't as welcome as he thought, he fled the tavern without finishing the drink he paid for. Back in the mercy of the evening wind, a shiver ran down his arms and spine. He hunkered and pulled at the sleeves of his tunic. With the fabric as thin as a strand of hair, it did little to help ward off the cold.

Still, he pushed forward. Aunt Orkin's tavern—that's the goal.

After a few attempts at getting directions from rude fairies or ones in a hurry, he arrived in front of a dingy shack on the forest floor. Craning his neck up, he saw an establishment spread over two branches a considerable distance from the ground. So that's Aunt Orkin's tavern? Whoa.

"I've never met someone who stared at the Madame's bar with awe reserved for the grandest palaces," someone said from Ariam's left. When he whirled to the source, his gaze landed on a pair of men. One had the curliest mop of dark hair and the blackest irises while the other was older, with floppy blond hair, a mustache over his lips, and a hint of wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. One of them was human.

Ariam straightened and faced the strangers. "I am looking for the people who own this shack," he said. "I am told you can find all sorts of people?"

The dark-haired guy checked his nails. "Depends on the person," he replied in perfect Ylanenla in an effort to humor Ariam's language. "What do you got?"

"How about names, first?" Ariam prodded. "If we are going to do business, it is better to start with that."

The blond man grinned and elbowed his companion. "I like this lad. At least he knows his priorities," he stuck a hand into Ariam's direction. "Korr."

Ariam took it. "Korr...?"

"Just that," the dark-haired pushed the taller man out of the way and presented Ariam with his own hand. "Nornel. Just that too."

People with no family names tended to be untrustworthy, but maybe it's just Ariam's unconscious biases surfacing. So, swallowing against the lump building in his throat, he shook Nornel's hand.

The dark curls seated atop his head flopped to the side when Nornel inclined his head at Ariam. "So," he began. "Who do you want to find?"