A final sigh escaped from his lips, the wind howling loud past his ears. He could hear them; their need, their desire to obey his wants. The Familiarity had assured it. So with that knowledge—that fact—Merrin marshaled the winds and shot into the heavens!
It felt so good. The cold air streaking across his skin, his hair fluttering and wetting as the tiniest raindrops found their way to him. They bathed even his face and drenched his clothes, granting unto him that natural cleanse of the world. He enjoyed it. Even as the dark, foamy sky grew in its closeness, the lightning sparked white violence across the world.
He enjoyed it all.
If only he could remain here, free from the horrors and pain of the world below, floating here with nothing but this sham of a stone knife, watching as the steam rose up the darkened eastos.
Here, he could see it all: the dark mountains that encircled Nightfell, and the all-too-common grand black square structures dotted across the map. There were no roads—none that he could see, at least. Normally, that is. His eyes, even here, could so easily bridge the gap.
But there was no reason to.
He could run away now and let Shae contest her battles. Let her do what it was she did best. But then… He sighed. "They have me in a noose."
They would reveal his secrets. They would tell the world of the things he was. Reveal to the brightCrowns of Nightfell of a strange boy that could quell the storms. And with that multitude of knowledge, they would ponder.
What a devilish thing that was… to ponder. For through it, they would know of the sunWitnesses; they would know of his spear and shield, and of the men, women, and more that had forsaken their lives for him.
They must never.
And this was not a hope solely for the brightCrowns. No. Merrin could see it now—scanning the potentials as a hand flips through a book. He could see the reality to come: a battle, a massacre, as the Church points to him and says these words: "THIS ONE, YES THIS ONE IS A HERETIC!"
He could see his people sprawled on the ground, dead. Why? Because they would not accept those words. They would not allow the Church to do what they have the right to do. And the outcome was one: a total and complete end of the sunWitnesses.
I can't allow that… He closed his eyes. I can't allow those deaths. Never again. No matter what.
That was the sure truth.
So with that, Merrin unsealed his eyes, taking in a flash of whiteness across his vision, blurring the world for a moment. Then it was gone, his eyes slowly drifting down to the world below. Ocular prowess zooming into a singular figure far, far down below.
She was jumping, blurring and vanishing across the structures. One moment running atop one, dressed in those cloak-fluttering cloths, then she was tossing a knife. And then… well, then, she was gone, appearing atop a member and repeating the circle over again.
Merrin sucked on his lips. Why does she even want me?
There was almost no logical sense from her perspective. Except one, maybe, perhaps power. She had seen the might of the El'shadie and wanted it. Had a need for it.
"I hate those types," he muttered. "I don't want another yoid in my life."
It was worse enough the first time.
Her knife stabbed into the side of the building; and she appeared beside it soon after, her grip tightened around the weapon's hilt. She looked around, a slight frown present on her features. A searching look.
Where is he? she must wonder.
Merrin sighed. "Let's get this over with."
—
A knife pierced through a square glass window—clean, without even a crack outside a thin slice on the surface. The weapon found its end on the wall within: those all-too-common sleek black walls of the House of Night.
A figure flashed in before the knife, digging it out from the wall. Shae, hair still tied in a bun, clothes slightly drenched from the sudden rain that had come upon Nightfell. A usual thing, though; the sky-tears were a commonality in the world.
She heaved a breath, eyes scanning the long, curving corridor. Not a usual thing in Noctisian architecture. Dark, too, this one was, with very few lamps placed at the base of the walls. But there was a cold nonetheless, most likely funneled through the walls.
The woman, on the other hand, maintained a moment's silence, a frown growing across her face. "Where in the mist is he?" she whispered. "Did he seriously run away?"
Fists tightened around the knives. Two. "Didn't expect that from an Ashman." She rubbed her temples. "Nonethele—"
"Sorry."
A voice flowed into the corridor, sudden. She turned, seeing nothing. Then came a smile. "Are you playing with me?"
"No."
At a side of the corridor, in a corner not lit by the lamps, there was a darkness—a deeper darkness than the rest of the room. She hadn't noticed it. She hadn't noticed the sense of endless blackness within it, almost as though it were but an infinite pit on the walls.
A man stepped out… more of a boy. Hair dark with sprinkles of ash-white across its surface. Taut, too, were his bones, with black eyes and a rather short stature.
She knew this one. The sunBringer.
He glanced at her. "Was waiting."
A smile spread on her face. Cocky bastard.
According to the potentially established hierarchy of power within a Great Clan, which may vary dependent on the Clan, the Highness is only seconded in power by a potential highRegent—one who, for legal purposes, is the true highHeir of the seat. — Writings from the whiteTower.
Merrin had arrived faster than he expected. She was right there, right outside the windows of the building, ready for entry. And what did he do? He saw a race. In a moment, he flashed through the world like a blur of darkness. Turns out, there was more than one way into the building.
A balcony. He smiled. What a word… balcony.
Regardless, that was his way in. The only matter was the waiting—merely five seconds, of course, but those moments, when stretched with the heightened mind of the caster, became minutes.
With that time, he played the role of a veilCounsel. Better for whoever saw him here to assume he was but another thief. A caster, yes, but a veilCounsel thief. And given this was a clan with almost solely that Order, he was a grain of sand in a desert. None would know.
He glanced at the smiling Shae. That is, if she holds her end of the promise.
Mist! He hated the powerlessness he had in this deal. In the end, even if he was to become a thief for these people—regardless of how noble their views were—they would still, at any moment, reveal his secret. They could still, at any moment, bring a finality to his people.
That cannot happen. That should never happen.
He sighed. "Let's go."
Her smile beamed. "This is where we split up."
"We were never together."
She snapped her fingers. "And that makes it even easier for you." She flexed her shoulders. "You will dash through the structure. There's no point even trying to sneak in; they have already found us… well, you to be exact."
"Wait, what?" Merrin tensed.
She showed teeth. "You seem to forget whose territory you are in."
veilCounsels!
"I mean, if they discovered an intruder—seeing how they are a rather cold and silent people—would they sound the alarms? Wouldn't they, I don't know, reduce the lights, make it slightly darker for their casters… making it just a tad bit more their style?"
Merrin felt a cold chill run down his spine.
"You move too fast for a clan of slowness… and you got caught."
"But..." There were no thoughts to account for this error. How did he miss it? With the mentation of the caster, he should have sensed it—sensed that possibility. He stared at her. Is this the difference between me and her? Experience vs. Talent? Like leim.
He lowered his eyes. "So I should start going?"
She chuckled. "No, no..." She tapped him on the shoulder. "You should start running."
And she was gone! Like a blink of an eye, gone from his vision, his awareness. Shifted again. When did she do it? When did she plant her knife?
He had no idea… annoying. Regardless, she was right about something. He could hear it now… the steps. People—heavy padding against the floors. Not casters. Casters would be softer.
Wait.
He turned, wide-eyed… and saw a face encased in a silver helm.