Confusions and impasses

The light entering the corridor felt duller than before, as though by the will of some cosmic entity. The circulating air, although fresh and crisp, carried a note of almost melancholic stillness.

Aveline sighed deeply, a frown gracing her face as she studied the scene. Two maids - the very bright in personality gossiper, Imari, and the petite Lilia, austere in her expressions as always - worked on the carpet, while another two gently washed the walls, ridding the surfaces of any burn marks. Floyd stood next to the broken window, helping another man handle the temporary covering of the hole that let new waves of air inside.

Watching in silence, the middle Stormrider child scoffed internally.

'I'm not even sure who's to blame the most. Illan, for triggering all this, or Lucas, for being here when he shouldn't have.' she grimaced unpleasantly, but her expression quickly shifted to a shallow grin. She imagined what would have happened had Lucas not appeared. 'Nimue would've definitely made Illan regret coming after her.'

Aveline sighed. The imaginative picture, satisfying as it was, quickly waned from her mind. Instead, her hand wandered into the pocket of her pants, feeling the small object therein.

Her violet eyes scanned the expansive carpet. Numerous blood stains were visible, and although their owners weren't written over, it was easy for her to tell which ones belonged to her brother.

Casting a quick glance toward everyone present, she confirmed nobody looked back before she knelt by the largest puddle yet to be washed away. With a quick, covert motion, she gently pressed the silvery card into it, letting the coagulated mixture of blood and sweat stick to it in a designated spot.

She felt the instrument vibrate gently, signaling it had begun its work. Immediately thereafter, she stood up, casting one last look before turning on her heels and walking away. The second part of her job was done.

However, as she turned the corner, she noticed a familiar elf standing by the nearby window. His blond hair swung as his head snapped in her direction, seemingly sensing her approach.

"Lady Aveline," Lis'te nodded gently.

"Lis'te," she answered in kind, slowly closing the distance. Immediately, she picked up on his lightly clenched fists and skittering gaze. Something clearly bit him, either about the situation with Lucas or about its aftermath. "Are you well?"

The elf's thin lips straightened into a line. His form deflated as he leaned against the windowsill. He spoke slowly, "I am fine, for the most part."

"And for the other part?"

Lis'te sighed. "I'm unsure what to think of the situation, is all. I want to say it's all gone to hell, but... there's a human saying, 'blessing in disguise'," he replied enigmatically, his eyes shimmering faintly as though some memory surged in his mind.

Aveline's head tilted ever so slightly. "So, something good came of the situation, is what you mean?"

"In a way," he shrugged. "Although I still am confused about the situation as a whole. Princess has already been acting up all week, but now, I don't even know what's going on with her anymore..." his hand made its way up his chin as he spoke, eventually palming and brushing his sleek cheek. "But most of all, I cannot fathom that Lucas man. Who is he that he could overpower Count Illan like that? And..." he paused, his eyes flickering toward her for a fraction of a second.

"And you've noticed a resemblance, I assume?" Aveline's brow raised.

"I... didn't want to prod the subject, but yes," Lis'te nodded, his head turning down the corridor. Looking at the portrait in the far distance, he continued, "He bears significant resemblance to your grandfather, Iwo. Is this a coincidence, or...?" he trailed off, looking at the tall woman with curiosity.

"*Sigh* Lucas is our brother, and the youngest of the family," she explained. "He's Classless, so he kept his head low. He didn't want to intrude upon you."

"But why did he fight Count Illan?"

"Illan had overstepped a boundary, Nimue told me. Lucas was protecting her, and... well, things escalated. He and Illan have a rather ill rapport. I didn't think it'd get to this, though..." her lips formed a thin line reflecting the sourness she felt about the situation.

"...I see," Lis'te nodded lightly. A flicker of new emotion, something edging on recognition, surfaced before he frowned gently. "Still, I don't understand why he and Princess have met. She was... well, upset about the situation as a whole, and **** to entertain meetings, so this feels off to me."

'...not any more off than poisoned mana.' Aveline thought, her violet eyes closing before her mouth opened, "Well, only they two know, I'm afraid. And I don't know about Princess, but Lucas won't be in a condition to answer anything until at least tomorrow. Perhaps it's best left unanswered, considering you're leaving soon," she said almost off-handedly, leaning on the windowsill as well.

Lis'te nodded, the gesture unsure yet almost... understanding. His shallow breath told her that he agreed at least partly with her view.

"That being said," Aveline broke the brief silence. "You do look like you could really use that sparring match I proposed last time. How about it? Want to vent a little?"

The blue-eyed man gazed back at her, his expression shifting to something between surprise and relief. Then, the tiniest of nudges lifted the corner of his lips.

"Ever the jovial spirit, I see," he chuckled. "But I'll admit, I can't refuse at this point. I'd like to ask for a few minutes first, though. I should cater to the state of our retinue first."

"Of course," Aveline nodded. "I have a few things to take care of as well. How about meeting me by the Great Hall in fifteen minutes?"

Lis’te nodded again, but before he could confirm aloud, his eyes drifted behind her, narrowing slightly.

Sensing the change, Aveline turned.

Nimue stood silently a few paces back. Her green eyes met Aveline’s with quiet intensity. The gentle sway of her outfit was telling of her timely arrival. Her posture was calm, but the way her fingers twitched, thumbs placed atop one another, spoke volumes of her inner state.

Aveline's stomach turned. She knew that look. Nimue had carried it in the past. And every time she did, things were grim at best. And she didn't want to even consider the worst.

Lis'te was the one to break the momentary silence, "I believe I should be going. I will meet you in fifteen minutes, Lady Aveline."

The blonde woman gave him a quick answer before her attention once again focused on the black-haired elf.

Watching Lis'te's back with faint wariness, Nimue waited patiently, her expression never once faltering from the neutral countenance she showed. However, that changed to a concerned expression when she judged the distance was enough. Understanding the intention, Aveline immediately marched into a nearby room. As she confirmed the place was empty, she turned, facing the elf who closed the door.

"Something happened?" she inquired, studying her.

Nimue nodded. The seriousness of her expression immediately told Aveline the gravity of what she was about to say.

"Lucas is classed," she stated flatly, with almost a lack of emotion.

The tall woman couldn't help but crack a grin. "So, him winning against Illan makes some sense, now," she commented. "But I'm guessing it's not a Mage?" her brow lifted.

"Aveline," Nimue's voice lowered, her ears following as she squinted. "This is serious."

The robust woman almost flinched. Skipping honorifics was unusual, especially for Nimue. Yet, the stern look told her all she needed to know; the situation was too dire to bother with niceties.

Nimue didn't waste time on small matters. Instead, her mouth parted, "Lucas invoked the world's will."

Aveline's eyes dilated. Her breath hitched, and her heart paused. Rooted in place, she looked straight at the maid, muscles frozen as a dreadful chill ran down her spine.

"What? No..." she started, her violet eyes closing for a second as she gathered a deeper breath. "Y-You're sure about that?"

Nimue nodded solemnly. "On Sunday, when he met the Princess, he was aided in a meditation attempt. He invoked the world's will then to class."

"...is he aware of that?"

"No. But he is aware of its power and cost to some extent."

"Shit," Aveline blurted through her teeth. The blonde of her hair shimmered as she shifted on her heels, turning away for a prolonged moment. "So that's how he beat Illan... fuck!" she cursed again, her fists clenching. "...how close is he to the boundary?"

"Still rather far," Nimue answered. "I told him to not use it again. Given time, it should recede."

Aveline gave her a momentary sigh of relief. Then, her expression softened. "And you?"

Nimue's expression turned queasy for a blink. Her hand lifted, her green eyes studying the small nails. Slowly curling the fingers and stretching them, she shrugged. "Closer than I'd like to, but it's manageable."

"Good. At least one positive thing."

Then, the maid's expression turned more troubled.

"That's not all."

"?" Aveline's brow raised, a visible question within. "What do you mean?"

A chill ran down her spine. She understood the look Nimue gave her. And as the maid's mouth parted, Aveline's every muscle trembled. Her spirit sank, her breathing stopped, and her heart froze.

All of a sudden, she didn't have to ponder 'the worst' anymore.

-5 minutes later-

Aveline inhaled deeply as Nimue's mouth closed for the final time. Then, she exhaled slowly. Her violet eyes opened slowly, her mind scrambling from the mountain of information she'd just received. Yet, as she looked at the black-haired elf in front of her, she couldn't help but feel her heart throb painfully, knowing all of that was true.

With a shaky hand, she brushed her hair before rubbing her eyes gently. For several long seconds, the two didn't speak a word, the silence more than enough of an understanding between them.

Eventually, however, Aveline groaned, her exhale dripping with anger.

"I knew this looked too nice to be true... fuck!" her voice raised slightly, her fists clenching. Green aura poured, forming gloves around her fingers as her wrath only surged. "Gods fucking damn it!" she roared, her hand suddenly striking the wall next to her.

However, with surprise, she felt Nimue catch her fist. The aura exploded against the maid's hold, dispersing harmlessly despite its power. Her lithe fingers clutched tighter, forcing Aveline to halt.

"Aveline... I know it's hard, but don't raise your voice. He still doesn't know how to invoke it consciously."

"And so what? How long will it take him to learn it? I lost my father to that thing, Nimue," Aveline suddenly snapped, her voice punctuated by stern anger as her gaze pierced the maid. "I-I don't want to lose my brother..." she trailed off, her eyes turning glossy. Nimue could easily read her emotions.

The black-haired maid suddenly pulled the towering woman toward her, her strength enough to crush any notion of resistance. Hugging her tightly, she rubbed her face against Aveline's chest.

"I know you're afraid," she said. "I'm no different, Aveline. But we mustn't falter, not now," Nimue continued, her tone steeled with resolve. "We're the only ones who can help him now."

She felt Aveline's large hands on her back as the Stormrider woman answered the gesture. For a prolonged moment, they stayed like this.

Aveline's thoughts slowly diverged. She reminded herself of a situation from a few years prior. The pain in her chest flared, her throbbing heart reliving the hurtful days surrounding her father's demise.

Finally, Aveline sighed wearily.

"We have to act," she said, her voice heavy. "I'll contact Gareth, and maybe peek a word to Lis'te. You keep a close eye on Lucas. If anything happens... I'm sure you'll figure out something."

"And about that brat?"

"I'll speak with Lis'te about keeping her down here. And I don't want you approaching anyone from her retinue, lest they start questioning you."

Nimue nodded gently, her long hair swaying. She took a short step back, studying the Stormrider child with diligence. Her eyes snapped across her towering figure as if searching for any irregularities. After a few protracted seconds, she turned, facing the door.

"...what will we tell your mother?"

"...I don't know yet," Aveline admitted, her shoulders slumping slightly. "For now, let's focus on what we can control."

The black-haired maid nodded, although Aveline could tell she wasn't happy with the answer. Without a word more, Nimue's hand reached for the door handle. Within seconds, the towering blonde was left alone with her thoughts.

Aveline let out a low groan.

"Fucking hell..." her teeth gritted. The whole situation was a mess. From Lucas meeting that strange elf man, to him classing... to this, now.

'The worst part is, we can't tell him anything right now... Causality is a bitch.'

They had agreed never to speak of that thing by its true name. It was too dangerous to tamper with in any capacity. The power that held the world together was never meant for any sentient being to wield, and it fought fiercely to regain its autonomy. Nimue knew that very well herself. Even Aveline, despite never having wielded it, didn't dare even voice its name aloud. She knew it wasn't picky about who to strike.

'And Lucas saw Nefrelith... fuck. Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, he goes and does a stunt like that...'

Aveline's teeth gritted as she braced herself against the windowsill. She had places to go and people to meet, and she knew she had to make haste.

Deep within her, she knew.

'This is going to be a very long night...'

However, a small vibration in her pocket told her she had something more to check.

Fishing out the small, silver card, the blonde woman languidly traced its intricate structure. She wasn't surprised Ismeria had told her to use it on Lucas. The class-checking machination, expensive as it was, made complete sense to be brought up in this situation.

'And what am I going to do with this now...' she thought, her finger gently tapping a designated spot. 'Wait... what?' her brows furrowed, confusion appearing on her face.

"What the fuck..."

Her reaction was caused by the very first lines of text she'd read.

[Lucas Stormrider (Age: 19)

Class: <None>

Level: 2

HP: 488/488

MP: 1124/1124

(...)]

"..this makes no fucking sense."

-A few hours later-

Illan’s eyelids parted with a sluggish flutter. His breath came in shallow drags, rasping softly against the silence. The burly man stared up at the ceiling overhead. The faded white, tinged with gray shadows, told him that evening had descended. He slowly turned his head to the side, every movement met with protest from stiff muscles. Beyond the window, the sky bled hues of dim purple, streaked with dusk’s fading light. Clouds drifted lazily above, their bellies dark and brooding. Between them, some stars were visible, already painting the sky with their glitter.

A guttural groan escaped his lips. He moved his limbs one by one, as if re-learning their motion. Each shift in position sent aching reverberations through his chest. Pain throbbed in pulses, telling him the several vital spots that had yet to recover.

'Damn it... what happened...' he pondered momentarily, his mind scrambling for an explanation to his state.

A few images flashed past his eyes. Red, gray, orange... and between them, faces. The elf maid, Nimue, Ophelia, and... Lucas...?

Illan's hand raised lightly. The man groaned. Every muscle screamed beneath the surface, tight and inflamed. Just how much did that mongrel maul him...? No, rather... how did he do that...?

"Lord Illan," a familiar voice called to him from the bedside.

"...Rita," the brown-eyed man answered, his voice coarse. "Gods damn it... water..."

He felt the gentle touch of porcelain fingers lift a cup to his mouth. His own hand shot forward, shaky but determined, seizing the vessel. The fresh, cold water felt like an elixir of youth to his dry throat.

"Hah... thank you," he said, eyeing the maid briefly. He caught a fleeting look of relief on her delicate face and let out a low sigh. "How long was I out?"

"Five hours," Rita answered immediately. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," the young man said, closing his eyes. "Is Ophelia around?"

"She felt soon after our Healers had helped you."

Illan sighed.

'Gods, how the fuck did this even happen... Lucas is a Classless mongrel...'

But then, he remembered.

'Lightning Ball... how did that bastard use a 3rd-circle spell? In an instant, too? Is he actually classed? Had he been hiding it?'

"Lord Illan?" Rita's brow raised, recognizing his ponderous expression. "Do you need anything?"

Illan's brown eyes met hers. Feeling his veins pulse lightly, he shook his head.

"No, Rita. I'd like to be left alone."

"Should I tell Lady Ester you're awake? She was worried about you."

"I..." Illan's hand balled under the covers. "...yes. I will go and see her shortly. Now, leave me."

The maid bowed swiftly and turned to go. Illan’s eyes followed her for a moment - her elegant stride, the way her figure moved - until a thought entered his mind anew.

'Fuck... why was he there?' he frowned. Hearing the door click, he **** his body to work, slowly getting to the side of the bed. The plush carpet gave under his feet, tickling his soles as he stood up slowly.

Illan groaned, his entire body shaking.

'Gods, everything hurts... when the hell did he learn to fight like that?'

Illan had seen Lucas fight in melee before. And those moves he'd shown... they didn't belong to him.

A heavy sigh exited his mouth, stirring the bedroom air. Lifting his gaze to the nearby window, Illan briefly watched the sky as his mind continued to replay the encounter. He wasn't an idiot. He could tell something completely shifted midway through the fight. In particular, when Lucas discovered the elf maid was hurt, his attitude completely changed.

'It was like he was possessed by something...'

A cold shiver ran down his back at the very thought. The idea sounded ludicrous. Yet, strangely, it fit. Otherwise, how could he explain it?

Illan shook his head, as if to dismiss the notion. Slowly stepping to the dresser nearby, he opened its top drawer and searched within for a few seconds. As he found what he was looking for, he withdrew his hand, lifting the vial of orange liquid and scrutinizing it. Its contents swirled, the subtle shift almost enticing.

With heavy steps, he stepped back to his bed. His eyes never left the vial, his mind slowly replaying the time when he'd received it.

The woman whose face he could barely recall had told him the liquid within could bring about change. She was terse with words, but the way she phrased it... Illan wasn't exactly sure why he'd accepted it. Maybe it was because of the talk he'd had with Kieran and Thorne about Karis Tezmi... or perhaps he was just tipsy.

But within his uncertainties, one memory of the woman's words surfaced.

"Only consume a third of this at once at most," she'd warned. "The effects are potent, but overdosing is dangerous."

Illan had shrugged that off back then. He wasn't sure in the first place why the woman even bothered him with this thing. In sincerity, he wanted to throw it out. Yet...

His fingers were already clutching the cork. The woman did say the concoction would make it easy to recover from almost anything. She also mentioned something about the duration and whatnot, but sincerely, Illan could barely recall. He never meant to use it. He nearly tossed it more than once. But now… his fingers were already twisting the cork loose.

He couldn't show weakness. Not to Ester. Not as her older brother.

As the cork came undone, the Breshnaw man lifted the vial. Gritting his teeth, he decided against hesitating.

The liquid's taste was vile, like a mix of citrus and gritted iron shards, feeling almost as if it scraped his tongue and esophagus. Barely a fifth of the vial made its way into his mouth before he instinctively stopped. Stiffling a faint cough, Illan swallowed, a sharp gasp escaping his mouth right after.

Then, he felt it. A fire burned within his guts.

"Gah...!" he groaned, throwing himself on the bed. It wasn't painful, but most definitely not comfortable either.

But as seconds passed, the sensation waned, first slowly, then almost quickly enough to leave him numb.

"?" Illan creaked open an eye.

Slowly ascending to a sitting position, he released a faint gasp. A tingling sensation spread in his muscles, traveling from his arms to his fingers, from his hips to his toes, like a wave of revitalizing heat. As it also disappeared, the young Breshnaw clenched his fist.

He almost forgot to breathe when he felt no pain. No strain, no limitation. Rather... he felt powerful.

'What the hell...?'

He stood up, but the feelings could only be confirmed further. The potion didn't just heal him. It definitely left an imprint of increased strength within. He felt his muscles clench and stretch, extra power quietly stirring in their fibers. It was almost as if he could...

Illan threw a quick punch. In that moment, he felt it; every last strained part of him was quickly recovering. More than that, his awareness felt expanded beyond belief, his hearing sharp enough to hear his heartbeat, his eye focus sharper than a razor's edge. Even the soft rustle of fabric against skin sounded louder.

A weak smile appeared on his face. If this was how Knights and the like felt, it was not a bad feeling in the slightest.

Suddenly, almost as if in a random fit, Illan threw a punch against the wall. Barely paying mind to halt himself, he suddenly gasped.

"Shit!" he hissed, recoiling as pain lanced through his knuckles and fingers. Two digits screamed in protest, likely fractured.

But then.

Nothing. The pain waned within seconds, disappearing like a lie.

Almost completely stunned, Illan looked at his hand. He was certain he'd broken a finger or two just now, but... stretching and clenching his fingers, he felt no difficulty, no pain.

He almost smirked. Resolve burned within him.

'Tomorrow, Lucas, you're a dead man.'