I leaned against the cold, rough stone of the outer wall, the wind tugging at my clothes. The usual chaos of the Outskirts was a distant murmur below. In my hands, several sheets of coarse, homemade paper rustled softly. My focus was there, eyes narrowed on the tip of the feather quill in my hand.
It was a strange thing, this quill. It had no inkpot, and its tip was clean. Yet, as I moved it across the page, dark, crisp words appeared. A green gemstone, no larger than my fingertip, was set into the feather's shaft, pulsing with a faint, internal light. The words it wrote weren't in English, but in a script from my Earth which seemed to have died out by now./ Well, it was dying back then anyways, so I would be survived if it was still around today.
I was making a list. It was a catalogue of names, locations, and objects, a private map of my ambitions here. Two entries at the top had clean lines struck through them—Moonlight and Starlight. Two more, further down, were marked with a careful star: Midnight and Blood Weave. And one, a single name at the very bottom of the page, was now circled with a slow, deliberate stroke: Saint.
I was so absorbed in staring at that circled name, contemplating the path to acquiring everything like a scavengers hunt, that I almost didn't notice his approach.
"You look like a general plotting a campaign," Sasrir's voice murmured, low enough that the wind almost stole it. He didn't look at the paper, his gaze instead scanning the horizon, ever the watchful shadow.
I didn't jump. I was too used to his sudden arrivals by now. "Something like that," I replied, my voice quiet. I didn't try to hide the list from him. He was the only other piece on the board who knew it existed.
He finally glanced down, his shadowed eyes flicking over the script. "You're actually using that? I thought you hated learning it in school?"
"I did. But it's even deader here than in our homeland, and I don't know any other language. Unless you want me to leave it lying around in plain English."
"You could just burn it when you're done looking at it."
"And have to redo it every time I want to add something? No thanks, too much effort. Besides, consider it a sort of memento from Earth."
Fine. But why are you using the Quill of Alzuhod to do it?"
I looked down at the quill in my hands, the green gem shimmering brightly. "Well, I figured it was only fitting. Besides, ever since I reshaped the Visionary Uniqueness I haven't actually taken it out of my Soul Sea. I might as well use it for something, or else what would be the point?"
"How very philosophical of you."
"Yeah yeah, enough of the ribbing. So, where do we go from here?"
Getting serious, Sasrir unveiled a map from within his cloak and showed it to me. "We go north for about ten minutes, then northeast for fifteen. I've heard people say there are stone monsters in the area, and it's still within a certain range of the Cathedral."
"So within Sunny's hunting range" I added. "Alright then, let's set off. I just hope we're actually lucky enough to get the Echo. Imagine after all this planning, the Spell just decides to fuck with us?"
"If you're that worried, write a prophecy with that Quill of yours. What's in the rest of those pages anyways?"
I flicked them over with a grin, showing Sasrir the words "fuck, marry, kill" written on top followed by a long list of names. Sasrir read through them quickly before fixing me a blank stare.
"Rain, Tyris, Jet...even Song? Seriously?"
I was quick to defend myself. "I'd wait until Rain's an adult of course, what do you take me for?"
Sasrir rolled his eyes. "Right, so you're just a necrophile, not a paedophile. Much better."
"What?"
"Jet and Song are corpses, remember? The Queen of Worms got one of Anvil's swords through her heart and Jet is literally a zombie...or would a vampire be more fitting actually? Anyways, just don't."
"Damn" I scrunched the paper in my hand in frustration, before carefully smoothing it out again. Getting good paper on the Forgotten Shore was a pain in the ass, as the Artisans don't really prioritise making it. I didn't want to waste any.
The northern road was a graveyard of rust and shattered concrete, just as we'd planned. The first few monsters we encountered were little more than target practice. A scuttling thing with too many legs, a floating orb of acidic gas—they never stood a chance. Or rather, Sasrir never gave them a chance.
I didn't even have to lift a finger. He'd simply gesture, and the shadows at the creatures' feet would twist and coil, solidifying into inky black hands that wrapped around throats or crushed carapaces. There was no sound, no struggle. One moment they were there, the next they were just… gone, leaving behind only a faintly glowing Soul Shard. I collected them, the warmth of the shards a familiar sensation in my palm. It was efficient, almost boring.
We reached the next intersection, a wider plaza where several broken streets converged. And that's where our easy stroll ended. The crossroads was occupied. It looked like a large, grey-furred monkey at first glance, but its movements were all wrong, jerky and uncoordinated. As it turned, I saw why. Its back was a seething mass of pale, worm-like parasites, their bodies buried deep in its flesh, their heads writhing in the open air.
An Awakened Devil. I felt a familiar thrill, the arrogance of foreknowledge. A mere Awakened Devil, I had killed two Fallen Tyrants-this was nothing to me. "I've got this,"