Xoris stared down at the map clenched tightly in his hands, glancing between the papyrus and the sky. With no Crack currently happening for him to line up the otherwise seemingly random, sprawled lines, travelling was going to be more than slightly difficult. He chewed his lip in thought. I know Senebt Forest is the third direction from Korim, but still...

It was midday, the sky fully open with no dark edges to be seen. At least, not with him being so close to the centre of Where the Light Showed. He could only make out the clouded blue, not a speck of the sky's black in sight.

He palmed his face in frustration. If I just knew the area, this wouldn't be such an issue. His hand moved up further, until he was pushing his brown bangs up and out of his forehead. Though I have to pass through town to leave. Perhaps I can simply- His thoughts were quickly scattered as he opened one eye to catch another: a purple iris peering at him, the skin on his wrist warped to form an eyelid to hold it so smoothly and perfectly within his flesh.

A beast-like cry escaped his throat, the eye on his wrist sending back the entire view of his face, with rows of sharpened teeth and a long, pointed tongue raised to scream. The face of a monster.

With a jolt, he clenched the skin along his body, and the eye closed soon enough, but his arm still shivered and twitched unnaturally. It would be uncomfortable to hold for long. As for retracting the fangs, that was an entire other process, the muscles in his jaw pulling and easing the bones back into his gums until he could run his tongue along a single, flattened row. A normal, Human tongue.

His heart was racing now, cold sweat pricking along his temples and the back of his neck as he panted. He was tired of this, tired of constantly having to look and double-check himself. At least other features he didn't have to acknowledge. That was unless he removed his shirt, like he had to shower one last time before leaving the castle behind, and with it, the luxury of filtered water at such easy access. That had been another struggle, to keep his body tense enough to bathe not as The Thing of Eyes and Teeth, but as a Human. Or at least, as close to Human as he could manage.

An unsteady breath wracked at his lungs as he glanced at the town outside the castle walls, just beyond its crimson moat. The sound of Korim's busy marketplace reached his ears, surprisingly better than he'd expected, with him able to pick out hundreds of footsteps with ease, each vendor calling out their wares.... He looked down at his new Aevida, just as full as the day he'd received it. Was it all right to walk among people like this? He wasn't Human, and it seemed wrong to hide amongst them, but if he planned to ask the Fae to join Korim's war effort, he would need directions. And a pair of gloves, while I'm at it.

The stalls ran alongside uneven stone streets, only amplifing the constant clanging of his metal shoes. Xoris tried not to blush out of embarrassment from the stares. Despite the town holding itself together better than the dilapidated, Wasteland village he'd grown up near, the perfect condition of his armour still set him apart in an instant, the size of the Aevida attached to the brown sash at his hip only adding to it.

He clasped his hands together, fingers rubbing against each other as his eyes flit about. Finally, a shop made up of a dark sheet of material came into view, suspended off the gate's wall and supported by two large sticks. Xoris hunched to duck under it, grateful for the shade it offered against the intense light coming in from the open sky. A woman with curly, black hair as long as her purple skirts stood behind a wooden table, several articles of clothing laid along it. She seemed sharp, and without many other options in mind, he turned to her.

"Hello." Her deep brown eyes flicked up at him, taking note of his appearance. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"P-perhaps? You see, I'm not from these parts and..."

He glanced down at the navigation map still in his hand, then back at the woman. She wasn't terribly short. In fact, she was rather average, but that still meant he had to bend nearly in half to reasonably talk to her. "Well, I was wondering if you knew which direction was which, since I don't know what Cracks line up with the sky around here... with it being open at the moment and all," he explained with a shaky laugh, offering up both pieces of parchment: One with the castle and forest, the other of the closed sky. "Also, if you happen to sell any type of gloves by chance..." He fought the urge to glance down at his bare forearms once more.

She simply stared at him like he was daft, flipping the navigation map so it lay over the political one. "Clearly you're not from around here. Anyone would know that the third direction is a turn right from the gate." Her gaze flicked up in exasperation as she handed the parchment back to him. "At least you're interested in buying something." She hiked her skirts to shuffle further into her tent set-up. "You mentioned gloves. I have a few pairs, but they're mostly in women's or unmal's, so you'll have to test them out."

Xoris nodded, folding even further in on himself as he dug through a basket she'd pointed to. One pair had leather laid out along the pads of the fingers, presumably cushioning against a reed pen. He wished he could purchase them. They would've been incredibly comfortable back in his study. He absentmindedly rubbed at the small bump that sat eternally on his right middle finger; the curse of writing bare-handed for Withers.

But they were short, coming to the wrist when the pauldron tied to his shoulder only covered to his mid-forearm, and besides that, he wasn't a scribe anymore. At least, not until he convinced the Fae to join the war, and the king let him return back to his study.

A sense of longing hit him as he thought back to his home, the one he'd moved into just this past Wither. Ever since his apprenticeship, he'd spent time in a scriptorium with fifteen others much like himself. It was only recently that he'd risen enough in ranks to receive a notice from the castle, informing him that he would be forming his own scriptorium with him as the head, and his own apprentice to soon follow.

Kraim sent that, actually, he recalled now, remembering the terribly flowy signature on the bottom of the page, letters bleeding into one another until they barely resembled the cracked, jagged script of the language Xoris had devoted his life to studying.

And yet, for what? He picked up another pair of gloves, though they too, fell short. For several Cracks, he'd sent Luke letters asking him to visit his home, to show him how far he'd come, and yet, the day that he had, it had been to bring a single message: That he'd been drafted.

"But I have some good news. I heard in passing the list of new recruits, and while you were supposed to end up in Luxor, I managed to pull a few strings so that you can come back to Skallos with me!"

Luke had grinned at him then, in a way that had made Xoris want to match it, but now he could only feel the watery beginning of tears in his eyes. The shaky feeling trickled through him, threatening the tight hold he'd been maintaining on his arms, his jaw, his neck.

Xoris shook his head, ignoring the look the woman was giving him as he tried to clear the feeling. His chest ached, but now wasn't the time to mourn. He had a mission, a way to make up for all the damage he'd caused, and it was time he returned to it already. Finally, amidst the countless gloves in the woven, reed basket he'd been digging through, he found a matching long, brown pair, the edges of the Iewet-skin leather clamped into a golden band that would brush just past his forearm.

He slid it over his hand, glad that his small, unathletic figure allowed him to fit in a women's size for once. Reaching for his Aevida, he went to purchase it, when a clack reached his ears, and a small weight, barely noticeable, was lifted off his hip.

What? He whirled around to find a girl, nine Withers old at most, rushing off with an Aevida held high in the air. A quick pat at his side told him that his own was still attached to his belt, but she must have snapped the two together when his back had been turned, because a good fifty were missing.

"H-hey! Get back here!" he called out to the girl running off. "Thief!"

She ignored him though, quickly winding down the alley.

His hands were back to dragging down his face. He'd only started travelling today, and was already being sabotaged. With an exasperated sigh, he grabbed for his Aevida again. At least he still had plenty of chips left to pay.

"Really? You're just going to watch her run off?" The shopkeeper raised her brows. "What kind of paladin are you even? No sense of pride." She shook her long, black locks.

Something about the gesture bristled Xoris' nerves. He glanced back at the girl, still able to make her out despite being a good distance away. That's right. I'm The Thing of Eyes and Teeth, one of the king's paladins. I shouldn't have to put up with petty theft... I don't think.

"Excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back to pay for those." With that, he set the gloves aside, ducking back out of the tent and tearing into the crowd. He was jostled in the side, pushed back, and several calls and shouts demanded his attention, but he ignored it all. His solid height gave him a good advantage on the child, and right as she made to dip under a hole in the bricks of Korim's walls, he reached out, feeling her bony shoulder in his hand. He whirled her body around forcefully, eyes glinting.

Her thin, light brown hair whipped around with her, bangs long enough to hide both her eyes. She gasped, catching sight of him as she held her Aevida high over her head. "No! You can't have it. I collected it and got to the base so it's fair." She stuck out her tongue.

She's still going to fight me, even though I clearly have her? Something about the situation seemed ridiculous to Xoris. Whether it was that this girl trying to hold the Aevida out of reach only brought it closer to where he towered over her, the fact that he would take her out instantly once he reached for his heka... Or that it's fifty chips, when I get seven times that amount daily...

He winced. What was I thinking? I don't want to touch that power ever again. That was the entire reason he was on this mission. Regret flooded through Xoris, and he reached to gently brush the hair out of her face when his fingers brushed against a soft, almost papery texture instead of skin. 

Instantly, his hand shot back, knocking the rest of the girl's hair from her face to show nothing but eye sockets. They were empty, the only life to them being the shadow-coloured mushrooms pushing their way out of the dirt filling each hole. He could see it now, the step-like fungus that ran down her arms and face like scales.

A Myska...

He froze, continuing to stare at her indigent face. She was Stained, and he- a paladin- had caught her, which should've left him very little question on what his options were.

But she's so young. Then again, so had the army he'd fought against Luke with, none too long ago. The Vampires, the few Myska in the crowd... They had mostly been children, children with the misfortune of being too curious, touching things that adults learned to stay well away from.

Xoris glanced back down at the girl continuing to writhe under his hold. Technically, she wasn't a girl, according to the numberous lectures Kraim had given him before letting him return to Skallos. The girl had died the moment she had touched the fungus that ran along the riverbanks. This was only a monster, and if he let it go, it would go on to kill Humans, several of them. 

But that couldn't be right. He was alive, wasn't he? He couldn't be dead, so then neither was the girl. She wasn't a monster.

Until she kills them all. Just like you did.

Panic ran through him, lacing through his heart with cold fingers. Cold as stone, a battlefield of stone, all his doing. No. He couldn't allow that to happen. Not again. His eyes darted to his sword, giving it a shaky look.

"Y-you're going to kill me?"

A trembling voice reached his ears, and with it, the sound of a heart thudding in a chest in sets of three. At first, he'd believed it to be his, but as his head snapped towards the Myska, he realised it was hers. For a lack of eyes, the dirt in her sockets seemed to well up like tears as she begged. "I-I'll give them back, sir! I'm so sorry. I'll never steal again. Please!"

"I—"

His eyes landed on her again. The sword. Her. She could kill people. So could he. It was only a matter of time, really. The Stain corrupted everything good in the world, majik and Humans, trying to cage it in and destroy it from the inside out. That was how Luke had always described it, anyway. It was why he'd been such a good soldier, with the idea that should he ever be bitten, the reaction between the heka and his majik would kill him before his body could be twisted into one of them.

And yet, he'd died anyway. ...Before I could even say goodbye. Xoris heart felt heavy as he continued to stare at the girl shaking before him.

...No. I can't do it. If he wanted to kill the Stained, he would've asked Kraim to send him off to another keep. This wasn't his battle. All he had to do was find the Fae, convince them to fight the wars, and he could return home. As for the girl...

Kraim doesn't have to know about this.

Maybe he was a monster for releasing her, ruffling her hair slightly as he stood back up. Maybe a Human would've killed her, but as far as he could see, this was what he was going to fix. He would be finding the Fae, and they would take down the Stained. Then he could personally guarantee that things like this would never happen again. That no more children would be lost to the Stain.

The idea encouraged him as he beamed at her. "Killing? Who said anything about killing? You said this is base, did you not?"

The girl shot the wall behind her a confused look before nodded frantically. "Y-yes, this is base!"

"Ah, well then it seems there's nothing I can do." He shrugged, taking a step back. "Though next time, you should make sure you get to base faster so that your win isn't quite as questionable."

𓂀

Xoris was a writer, and had been so since the day he'd been able to pick up a reed pen. During work, his mind had always been busy inventing stories, characters and concepts occupying his thoughts so that the moment he was finished, he could spend his time writing his book. He'd always been fascinated by the adventures his hero would go on, and he would be lying to himself if he'd said he hadn't envied them. Exploring and travelling the world sounded far more interesting than sitting at a desk while a war raged outside.

And yet, he was coming to realise how foolish that was. Traversing by foot was awful, especially in metal shoes that rubbed away at the bare skin of his ankles. The terrain was also boring. The town fallen away several turns ago, and while the open expanse wasn't the sand-filled Wastelands he'd left behind, the flat plains before him were nothing more than waist-high, yellow grass. Perhaps there was the occasional violet tree to break it up, but certainly not enough to call a forest, which meant the day could easily end before his journey did.

Biting at his lip, Xoris dug into the small pouch tied to his sash, his fingers finally meeting the glass of his water clock. He held it up, watching the crimson drip. Any excess water pushed the marbles along the clock's right side, so that when all the water had run from the top compartment to the bottom, the top would be so filled with marbles that the weight would turn it over and start counting anew. Hence a turn, and, if the ones lined up at the clock's left meant anything, there had been thirteen of those already today. 

He frowned, putting it away. A day only ranged from fourteen to eighteen turns, and he decided to pick up his pace. He didn't need to get trapped in an open field if the sky chose to close earlier today.

Still, the only thing in view was a single building, not the forest. He narrowed his eyes at it. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the sandy, yellow building with its dark, shadowy cracks painted on its sides. The Church of Palkhiv, he thought none too pleasantly. He wasn't religious, but as he drew closer, he couldn't deny the aching exhaustion beginning to spread up his calves. It had been a while since his last rest, and his stomach was more than a little regretful of when his last meal had been.

"Good day!" a man in a black robe called out to him, the antlers attached to the hood announcing his higher status. "Have you come to pray to our Protector, Palkhiv?"

Xoris stopped, using the edge of his emerald cloak to wipe the sweat that had formed on his forehead. No, he most certainly did not want to pray to the god... or goddess for that matter, and deep down, all he wanted was to keep going. But at the same point, continuing like this would bring the return of that infernal heartbeat in his ears, when all he wanted to do was forget.

His gloved hands clutched each other, checking to make sure the leather was secure. "No," he replied tersely. "But, I'm a paladin on a mission from the king, and I'd be most grateful if you allowed me some food and drink... and possibly a place to stay for the night."

Already, he was wincing at having to make such a demand, but as he threw another glance upwards, he could see the darkness of the sky creeping up as it overtook the clouded blue. There wasn't much of a choice. At least I prepared myself for an earlier night. It could've been worse. He looked back down at the monk, giving him a sheepish smile. "I'll donate, if you'd like to make up for my intrusion. I apologise."

"Nonsense." The man waved it off. "A monk should never turn someone in need away. It must be Palkhiv's will to close the sky so early if it fated our meeting each other."

Xoris tried not to roll his eyes at the mention of a god's will. He would be polite. They were helping him, after all, and he didn't want to seem ungrateful.

"Though I do believe," the man began again as he pulled at a chain, lifting the stone door of the monastery, "-that the Crack will come early this time, within the coming tally. It's in the air."

"For sure," Xoris absentmindedly agreed, all while his mind ran on. He knew very well that there was nothing to decide when things would happen. They simply did. The sky would close when it would close, the Wither would end when Wither came, and the Crack would burst through the sky whenever it chose to do so. It was purely random. Not once had he seen any reason to believe that a horned god controlled it all, closing the sky for their safety, and battling with his Vilves to protect Humans. If that were true, then why wasn't he here, protecting those suffering to the Stain every day?

If he was real, why would he have let someone as good as Luke die?

As much as the thought left him bitter, he kept his mouth shut, following the man down dimly lit hallways, past other men praying to walls covered in pictures of Vilves, the creature's black horns stretching like Cracks into the painted sky.

A sense of awkwardness began to spread through Xoris amidst all the worship, resting at his cheekbones and mouth. His teeth itched. He was about to reach his hand up to scratch at them, when the man finally stopped at a short staircase that led down to a large room filled with tables.

"My friends! It is with great pleasure that I announce that we will be having a guest tonight. Please welcome, with open and loving arms, one of the King's loyal paladins!" The man raised his arms along with his voice with the announcement, his robe's sleeves falling to reveal arms marked with the black, branching patterns of Palkhiv's Cracks. He turned to Xoris as the room filled with snapping from the crowd, face nothing but a grin. "Please, take a seat wherever you please. If you need anything, ask for me. I'm Elder Kasr."

With a nod, Xoris shuffled down the staircase. He made sure not to sit next to any of the other horned figures of the church, choosing instead to take a spot further down the long tables. A few men, only in lavender robes instead of the higher up's black, scooted to the side to make room for him. The snapping died down as he finally took a seat, the rest of the room in a respectful silence.

At least the setting is mostly quiet here. He supposed it couldn't get much worse than the boisterous keep he had shared with Luke. Luke... 

The name weighed heavy on his mind. He took hold of his other hand, tightening his grip around the glove. He was trying to get the Fae to join, to abolish the ranking system that had pulled Luke under in an instant, and yet, part of it seemed wrong, in the same way that the idea of a god had felt wrong only moments before.

What about myself? I'm truly this powerful thing able to stop a war, I should've been able to shield one person. But now he was dressed finely and treated with respect wherever he went. It all seemed like a lie.

His thoughts were interrupted though, by the tinny clang of a spoon rapping against a goblet. He glanced up to see a man at the centre table, with antlers larger than any of the others, commanding attention. "As the sky draws to a close, let us give thanks to Palkhiv for protecting us against the Cracks that threaten us all, and his mighty messengers, the Vilve, for keeping watch over our world. In his Will, let us trust!"

He raised his goblet, and Xoris watched as the people around him clasped their hands together, letting their fingers interlock to form an X, and crossing their thumbs to form the same unified shape in prayer. Not wanting to look like a heathen, Xoris quickly moved his hands to match, almost feeling nostalgic. Whether he believed it or not, it was the same as living in the Warden's fort, saying prayers before sharing a meal with Luke and the other children. A wave of sadness blossomed in his chest at the memory, and he rested his head on his posed hands.

"Now, let us feast!"

Hearing the end, he went to pull his head back up when he jumped back in shock. He separated his hands in one swift movement before slamming them flat against the table.

"Are... are you all right?" A man asked him, reaching over Xoris' shoulder to lay bread and a wrinkled, pink slab of meat on the plate before him.

"Oh, yes... I'm, I'm fine. Thank you." He felt embarrassed to mention that the formation of his own hands bothered him. That the space between his two palms had been shaped like an eye. Instead, he picked up his fork, using its side to cut through the soft meat before putting it into his mouth.

It should have tasted good, thick juices filling his mouth with the savoury, salted flavour, but something about its slightly metallic edge reminded him of the taste of his new blood in his mouth. Part of him desperately wanted to spit it out, but he forced himself to swallow. There's nothing wrong with eating meat. After all, no one else at the table was bothered, and he figured he stuck out enough as it was. Besides, he'd enjoyed it his entire life. Why would it be different now? He cut off another piece.

Despite not caring for the mythology and beliefs the monks carried, he was certainly thankful for their generosity. The feeling only grew by the time he'd helped them to clear the table, Kasr then leading him to a room for the night. Still, it was a relief to be alone, to remove his armour and fling his body into the soaked reeds of the cot in the corner of his room, letting his exhaustion leak out onto the grass.

Rolling onto his back, he removed his gloves, placing them next to his sword on the desk beside him. A warm breeze slipped in through thearced hole of the window, and Xoris took the chance to relax. The thoughts from before were coming back, but if he made himself comfortable, he knew he could pass out before they could rake on him. He didn't want to see the girl's face, nor hear her voice asking him that question again. In fact, he didn't want to consider anything other than the next day ahead of him. If it wasn't planning on his mission, then it wasn't helpful.

A yawn escaped from his lips, and he closed his eyes. Sleep would come soon. He was sure of it. Even now, a numbness was spreading from his feet and hands as he slowly lost control of his limbs. In a few drips, it would reach his head, and that would be that.

"It's too late for generosity."

Xoris' eyes snapped open, brows furrowed in confusion. Whoever had said that, they were close. And yet, if he thought about it, the words had barely felt like words themselves. It was more as though meaning and emotions had entered his mind from an unknown source. A voiceless voice.

Was I dreaming?

He was about to lay back down when it happened again, not in words, but as pictures. Flashes forcefully ran across his vision like a vivid daydream: Of Humans mining the lands, of members of the church pulling waters from the rivers to be filtered by a maje, farmers planting trees where they didn't belong. His head pounded, burning, aching, pressing building with each image, all backed by a single sense of urgency. It screamed of death, and he needed it to stop.

Suddenly his hand was clutching the sword beside his bed, but he didn't know when it had gotten there. Only that it felt right. "Just end them. It will stop."

-I'll feel better. The intent rang out clear in otherwise clouded thoughts. He went to take a step off his bed in a movement that barely felt like his own.

His bare foot made contact with the freezing stone floor, sending a shiver up his leg. The cold brought a stir in his tired, muddled mind. He squeezed his eyes shut before staring at the blade in his hand. What was he doing, getting out of bed? When had he grabbed his sword, and what for? There was nothing wrong, no danger.

He shook his head, releasing the breath he'd been holding in his chest. He needed to sleep. His tiredness was clearly getting to him, and it was getting difficult to keep his skin tight enough to not see any of the dekhr eyes.

He dropped the sword on the desk, about to collapse back onto the bed when he pulled his hand away from the hilt, a scraping noise following like a reed pen against stone. A tingling sensation laced across his left hand, right where the scar Kraim had given him lay.

The coldness spread to his spine, making him tremble as he feebly watched the back of his hand. He formed his fingers into a fist, feeling pointed, bony shapes under his palm, along with a warm gust of air slowly being emitted.

Xoris took a deep breath, swallowing hard if only to clear up the dryness of his throat. He didn't want to see it, but he had to know. Not wasting another moment, he flipped it over, spreading his fingers to make out the shape of his hand. 

Sure enough, on the pad of his palm where the scar had been lay only one slit, open wide enough to reveal rows upon rows of sharpened teeth.