A/N: The next chapter! Also a lot of worldbuilding happens though it's Muvian focused. Enjoy!
"I suppose being able to communicate with the Cloths somewhat beats out a checklist… But I would still like one," Shion mutters aloud as he looks upon all the cloths he's managed to recover. The number was higher than he had estimated but there were still many unaccounted for, either from the most recent Holy War or because their wearers had perished in other places that weren't this battlefield. He's combed the area many times over and nothing new has turned up. So that part is done at least.
Now for the harder part.
It's the first time he's doing this, so he's not entirely certain of the odds of success or what all could happen. At any rate, all the cloths Shion's found are in their respective boxes, tightly packed together in a grid. Sunlight glints off the metal, and would likely blind anyone if it was brighter right now. The chatter trickling into his thoughts wouldn't be too different from a hospital bay: there's only the pained groans and cries from the cloths, all clamoring for healing, for relief.
"Quiet down; I'm getting to it." He replies, not bothering to reflect that to anyone else if present, it looks like he's talking to himself. The Aries Saint seats himself not too far from the grid, one leg propped over the other as he concentrates, a halo of golden light slowly enveloping him as he burns his cosmos. His eyes are closed but he can feel the stream of energy trickling into the earth beneath him, passing through packed dirt, soil and stone. It is only a trickle, water from a plugged-up spring, and yet he sees it spread outward from where it started. Ultimately, the whole battlefield is soon flooded in his cosmos.
Revitalize. Return to a liquid state.
Spread out along the field, the pool becomes a net of tight weave, tendrils reaching out every which direction while catching every remnant of spilled blood it can find, then dragging them inward to the center. Dry turns to wet as the light touches it, and likely is also drawing in every microscopic component of iron from the earth itself, draining out the rest like a sieve.
Light begins to rise out of the ground, turned into smoky tendrils reminiscent of steam as it seems to gather at a single point right over the grid. Shion doesn't notice, too entrenched in his focus. He feels he can't overlook even a single iota of the field, that he must salvage all the blood he can. Saint, Spectre, God… It doesn't matter where it comes from because in the end, blood is blood.
Wisps of cloud quickly gather into a thunderhead and he's faintly aware of a shadow falling over him but he doesn't let it disturb him from bringing in his harvest, slowly dragging the net towards the center. He's feeling the heat now, in him, around him… but he can't open the floodgates just yet.
A large cloud now hovers above the cloth-grid, spread out far enough that Shion will be caught in its rainfall once he lets go. Even so, it's still tightly packed together, wreathed in his cosmos though the cloud itself is dark, almost black. Whether that's due to what it carries or just a random side effect is unknown, nor was there time to ponder at it.
Just a bit more. Nearly there…
Keeping the cloud from bursting is starting to show. He feels cramped and stretched out too far all at once, constantly being filled with substance even though he's certain it's going to overflow any moment now. Shion even feels it affecting him physically, his body slowly leaning over and stretching out over himself as if to ease the pressure, his face practically in the dirt. But finally, finally, he's drawn the net out from the ground, and its catch with it. Once the last tendrils of light have been absorbed into the cloud, Shion lets go.
It starts light, barely feeling it strike his body as he raises himself, slowly stretching out one leg, then the other to avoid cramping. Like the sudden downpour it was meant to emulate, the rainfall of blood hits harder, faster; soon it's just the constant sound of droplets striking metal as blood gradually fills in the cloth boxes. Blood gets on his hair, his clothes, his skin but at this point he's past caring, letting himself fall back on the ground as the rain comes down in a torrent.
He's going to need some time to recover before the next step.
When he comes to, the cloud is gone and the cloths are soaking in a bloodbath within the boxes. The blood staining him is starting to cake and dry but Shion ignores that as he rises to inspect his work. It's a little spotty; the fluid level in some boxes is higher than others and despite his attention to detail some of it still fell on the ground surrounding the grid. Maybe digging a deep trench first would have mitigated that?
On top of that, the blood he harvested isn't the ideal quality; it's not freshly spilled and somewhat diluted because it's the collected blood of many rather than the one. Of course, the Aries saint isn't certain if there's a precedent for this situation of having to heal so many cloths at a time.
Still, it seems to be working: the cries of pain have abated, dying into a sleepy murmur as the cloths settle in their baths. The plan is to let them soak in the blood for a while before he actually starts repairs. In the meantime…
He needs to get them to Jamir, specifically to the spire's vault. Of course, despite the name it's less of a vault and more just a natural freezer, an underground chamber hollowed out by the winds that occasionally howled into it through scattered drafts and the rare occasions when ice thawed. The chamber isn't completely sealed in either; there was an opening leading further into the cave system it was connected to if you knew where to look. Ultimately, it would serve well for the intended purpose of keeping the blood from spoiling.
The main problem is getting all of the cloths to the spire, specifically the vault, in one go. Atla, had he still retained his powers, would probably have done this without needing to channel his cosmos and not breaking a sweat in the process. He had been that much of a psychic savant among their people.
Shion, not so much.
Yes, according to the standards of his people, he had shown incredible ability with his psychic powers but he had never tried to teleport so many objects plus himself at once. So much could go wrong here-
No, better not to think about it; I'd just get more anxious. Breathe… Calm… Focus… He repeats it to himself as much as he needs to, feeling his mind smoothing out into a mellow, fog-like haze while his body relaxes. He waits for a bit, mainly to confirm it's not a passing feeling, that it's there to linger for what he needs to do.
He burns his cosmos, not confident in the sole use of his psychic powers to manage the warp. As the corona of light wrapped around him blazes with heat and light, he focuses his thoughts on Jamir. In his mind, he sees the village, the residents going about their usual business: tending to plants and livestock, what little can survive in the heights, teaching the young what they'll need to know about the world and surviving in it, others going off to forage and hunt in the wilderness…
Narrow it.
The aura of power surrounding him spikes up as he moves past the village, to a tall spire a bit past the outskirts. It's seen better days and repairs will have to be made sooner or later. At least there would be plenty of stone to work with, given where it was. Briefly, there is the thought to make some alterations in the rebuilding but it will have to wait for another time.
More.
Now he pictures the interior of the spire itself, along with everything in it. The living quarters, the armory, which was adjacent to the workshop, the room of the Star Forge a bit past them. Depending on how many are living in the spire at a time, higher floors were occasionally modified into extra bedrooms and so on if there was no space in the living quarters' floor.
Lower.
Into the depths, the innards of the peak the spire sat on. There is only cold stone and a little snow or ice around him, the walls of rock cut and carved into more for function than aesthetic, hence the rough, unhewn look. But this is the place he wants. Burning his cosmos even more, Shion's eyes snap open. Barely instants later, the battlefield is empty.
"Come on Leif, hurry up," Mirkha calls down to her companion from her higher position on the mountain incline. "I'd rather we indulge the old crone quickly so I can get back to what I was doing earlier," she adds as she pushes back a thick lock of hair to tuck behind her ear, only for it to fall over and cover her left eye in its usual persistent fashion. Her remark only earns her a snort from her companion, focused more on the climb than their conversation,
"You just want to get back to primping yourself and looking even prettier than you already are; you do know Old Tara only singled you out because you weren't busy, right?" There was a pause as Leif power-walked up the incline towards Mirkha, not stopping until he stood beside her. After a few seconds of catching his breath, he went on,
"Besides, you shouldn't call her that; it's rude."
Mirkha shrugged in response, casually flipping her hair off of her shoulders before turning around to resume the climb,
"Is it that rude to state the truth? She's the oldest in the village. Actually, 'crone' might be an understatement… Anyway, let's just keep moving. She just wanted us to look into what's going on at the spire, right?"
"Yeah, and that we were to be thorough about it; she said she'd know right off if we weren't." Nor had the old woman bothered to elaborate on how she would know if they shirked their errand. Perhaps reading their minds in spite of any efforts at blocking her? At any rate, Leif knew better than to give Old Tara a hard time, and he knew Mirkha was the same, despite her bluster and seeming indifference.
"C'mon, we're almost there," he told her, turning to look ahead and see the spire looming closer as they moved towards it. Save for sections that were already destroyed, the bridge across the ravine was still mostly intact but the attack from the specters had done a number on it. The stone bridge wasn't as solid as it once was, and the two Muvian youths wasted little time crossing it, keeping their steps light so as not to aggravate its weakening structure and supports with added weight. From there it was simply a few more steps and they'd be at the spire.
Upon reaching the entrance, Mirkha stopped, glancing towards her companion through the gray eye, iris shot through with blue accents, that wasn't covered by her thick, wavy mane of rose red. Leif didn't have to wait long to find out why:
"So how are we doing this? Explore each floor and room together or split up? I mean, it's not a huge or overly complex building but Old Tara seemed to be rushing us."
"True. I say we split up; if there's something inside like she says, we're bound to come across it at some point."
"Right. Now that it's settled, I'm taking the bottom half." Leif rolled his eyes at this but did not object. Sure, she only took it because she'd have less places to search but at least Mirkha was doing something. Satisfied with that, he followed her in, his braided silver hair ruffled by a breeze blowing past. Once inside, both split up to search their respective sections of the building.
He starts on the floor above the ground one, carefully combing each room he comes across. There were signs of habitation but dust was starting to collect in places, cues that the place had been empty for some time now if not outright abandoned. Ultimately, nothing turns up on this floor and Leif moves on to the next one.
It's in this floor where the magic happens, or so he had been told. Sure enough, he can see that he's approaching the workshop, with the armory adjacent to it and the smithy past them. According to old rumors and stories, one of the last remnants of the old Muvian civilization is contained within. There is a brief moment of distraction as Leif tries to envision it, the smithy alive with activity with assistants working the Star Forge while the master smith shaped the metal according to his or her vision. Supposedly, the first works of metallurgy drawn from the Star Forge had been made out of the ore from fallen stars.
He shakes the thoughts and their images away, refocusing on his search. He decides to start with the armory and see where things go from there. It's not a very big room but from how it had been optimized for as much storage space they could get out of it, there's more places to investigate and look through than Leif expected. He's not certain if he's even investigated half of the room and its contents when suddenly Mirkha's voice echoes through his mind, louder than warning bells,
"Leif! Come quick, I found something, I mean, someone! He's living dead weight and I can't carry him by myself!"
When he wakes up, the sight greeting his eyes once all blurs into focus is not the stalactite-covered ceiling of the vault but a white, domed one. The next thing he's aware of is the smell of food coming from somewhere else, probably in the same general vicinity of this room. Shion sits up with a groan, looking at his surroundings. It's been a while so it takes a bit for recognition to settle but eventually…
"Old Mother?"
The response comes back quickly, calling to him,
"In the kitchen; I won't let you have anything until you wash up, however!"
That was typical enough for the old woman, and after looking around a bit more, he finds a spare change of clothes. It's possible they might be his own from whatever's left in the spire but it's much more likely that they were lent by another villager or left over from when the woman's husband still lived. Picking up the bundle of clothes and tucking it beneath one arm, Shion leaves the room, then the house altogether.
He's not getting as many weird looks as he anticipated what with still being covered in dried blood and wearing bloodstained clothing but then, all that excitement would have happened whenever he had been brought in. Occasionally returning a greeting when one was given, the Aries Saint heads for the communal baths, which are set up in a large cavern within walking distance of the village. Over time, people had set up private bathrooms within their own homes but many still went to the caverns, to soak in the carved pools filled with water fed from natural hot springs or scrub off the dirt with soap and pumice before pouring water on themselves before the soak. In an instance that some cultures would find odd, social gatherings were frequent here, happening as often as any in the village square.
Upon entering the cavern, he sees there aren't many bathers in right now but moves on anyway, collecting a bucket, pumice stone and a round ball of soap. After shedding his clothes, he rinses, repeating more than once to ensure he's thoroughly soaked before starting to clean himself. With the combined aid of pumice and soap, he scrubs off the blood and dirt, gradually shedding what feels like layers of grime off of his body. Whatever's left of the soap he simply crushes and uses the resulting lather to work on his hair. Somehow, it turns out to be enough, a surprising thing given how thick his hair is.
A short while later, he's walking back to the elder's house, dressed in his borrowed clothes and his damp hair significantly flattened by the water. He's carrying his original change of clothes with him; at some point he will have to wash them but it doesn't seem like that will be happening today. In any case, he soon returns to Old Tara's house, laying his clothes aside to help her serve the meal for two: it's soup, a variety of vegetables and herbs added in to help flavor the soup bones and meat that is the main ingredient. It's the kind of cooking he hasn't had in a while, that he figured he'd never taste again because he had gone off to war certain he wouldn't be returning.
Life, and Fate for that matter, work in strange ways.
For a while, there's no conversation, the Aries Saint mainly focused on filling his belly while the elder woman paces herself with her own feeding. It's around the second helping that the pangs lessen and Shion finally pops the question:
"How did you know?"
Tara found a piece of vegetable-it might have been bok choy, or perhaps radish?-and ate it, making sure to chew and swallow before she answers him.
"I sensed a surge of power coming from the spire. Seemed odd considering it was supposed to be empty, so I sent some youngsters to take a look." A pause as she looks him over, not unlike a concerned mother. "So… it is over, then."
"It is. As you've likely already realized, some of ours survived but-"
"No powers. Pyschic capability stripped away from those who had it from birth, and their cosmos burns too low and dim for the likes of the saints." Pause. "A sad turn of events but it was unavoidable, wasn't it?"
Shion's silence says everything, and Tara doesn't press the issue further, instead choosing to change the subject,
"So what brings you home, Aries Shion?"
The answer doesn't come right away, the other participant distracted by food. She doesn't have to wait very long, though,
"Mainly it's repairing the cloths I was able to recover. After that… After that, I must leave for Sanctuary." To rebuild, recall the non-saint soldiers that had been sent away days before the war began, to restore order to the chaos and ensure the system still works so it can keep running in the days to come.
"I figured as much. Still, you're welcome to visit or stay in the village if the spire proves too stifling in its silence and emptiness."
"That… Thank you, Old Mother."
After the meal, he helps her clean up. In fact, he tries to do it all himself but Tara refuses to let him fuss over her. Once everything is cleaned and put away, he bids her farewell and teleports to the Spire. Since there was no clear destination within it in mind, Shion predictably winds up in his own bedroom. It's about the same as he left it, though it was probably in need of some cleaning. Likely the whole spire was in need of cleaning, among other things.
All of that could wait until morning, however. It's still early in the day but the lull of sleep drags at him in spite of that. Very likely a combination of what he did earlier and a heavy meal is the culprit here. He should probably be more productive and get started on cleaning or at least going down to the vault to assess the condition of the Cloths. Do something, anything.
It is a valiant struggle but Sleep wins out eventually.
The body loses tension, breaths slow and settle into a steady cadence of rise and fall of the chest. There is the feel and sound of the mountain wind, a comfortable white noise to help him settle further into sleep.
For a time, there is nothing, only the promise of rest that Hypnos gives the world.
Gradually, color creeps in, then shape, ultimately forming an exaggerated tableaux of memory: the glint of armor that seems cut and crafted from black diamond, the flashes of light in the sky of falling stars, a ship out of the age of myth that wouldn't show itself again anytime soon.
Running. Leaping. Fighting. Sometimes it is elegant and polished, close to the ideal men picture. Other times it is a rough, primal melee where the focus is on survival and letting instincts guide you to victory. The smell of blood, smoke, ozone… It's all around him but there's no place to hide in or retreat to.
Something splits the ground open with a crack behind him but he keeps moving, not even looking back. He's aware of the sound of something heavy impacting the ground not far behind him but his eyes are only for what's ahead, one hand reaching out to block an incoming fist. Another crack, that of bone as he crushes the fist in his palm-
Shion wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, eyes wide open, fight-or-flight instincts on full alert until it registers that he's in his room in the spire, had been there the whole time. Barely waiting for his pulse to slow and his heart to steady, he leaps off the bed and goes to track down the cleaning supplies.
Hair pulled back into a thick knot to keep out of his face, Shion starts with the dusting and sweeping, dumping what he gathers in a sack. He's thorough with each floor, from the level of his room to the top, then once more from there to the ground floor. It only expends more energy but he makes sure to do it twice before sealing the sack and placing it elsewhere. He'll dump it when he's done cleaning.
Top to bottom, bottom to top, no hallway, no room, not even nooks and crannies are spared. By the time he finishes, it's hours into the morning, the sky lighter than the pitch black he had fallen asleep to. There's the thought to push on, get to working on the cloths while he's still awake even as he feels the adrenaline bleeding out. Stubborn as he is, it's clear to him that in this state he can't repair the cloths without something going wrong in the process.
Ultimately, it's a compromise: setting up the materials and tools he needs in the smithy along with teleporting one of the cloths from the vault to said room. There's not enough focus to actually pick one out so the choice is random and arbitrary: Camelopardalis.
With that, Shion leaves the cloth to thaw out within its box and heads back to his room.
He wakes later in the day, perhaps not fully rested but in much better shape than before. He could visit the village for a quick meal but decides it can wait a while longer, instead heading up to the workshop floor to check on Camelopardalis. Shion cracks open the box immediately upon reaching it, watching as the sides fall to the floor to reveal the cloth. Since no thawed-out blood comes flooding out when he does so, it can only mean that Camelopardalis has consumed it all and simply waits to be repaired. A good sign.
Rather than getting to work immediately, the Aries Saint assesses the cloth, to better determine how to best repair it, and perhaps make notes for modifications, if needed. Repair was the main priority right now, and the most crucial.
The Holy War had been rough on everyone and everything but Camelopardalis seems to have weathered it well enough, certainly better than some he can think of still lying stored in the vault. Absorbing the blood had kick-started the Cloth's natural healing processes so it was very likely that a bit of the damage had healed away overnight. Still…
He reaches for the stardust, grabbing a fistful of the glimmering substance before gently sprinkling it over the cloth. A breeze blows in through one of the windows but instead of scattering all over, the dust seems to bond to the metal. When his hand is empty, he grabs another and repeats the process, Camelopardalis soon practically covered in stardust. After that, he carefully tosses flakes of tin and copper over the statue, which immediately bond with the stardust.
From there it becomes a simple task of using the right tools to fix a particular injury, as well as collecting excess material. Originally, all was quiet but he soon starts to hear a familiar chatter as the cloth starts to rouse itself from recuperative sleep…
"What about the sun?", Shion inquires as he carefully hammers out a dent. It doesn't take long for Camelopardalis to answer. The response comes in the hum of its namesake but he understands all the same.
"Oh, you want to bathe in its light and heat. And for that you want to go to… Africa." Pause. "Mount Kilimanjaro. You know that's three volcanos, right?"
The humming is more insistent, almost annoyed. He can hear practically hear the "so?" in it.
"I could simply toss you in Kibo's summit and it wouldn't make much of a difference whether you bathe in the heat of the sun or not."
The humming is louder, persistent. If it could be a real giraffe, Camelopardalis would likely be pawing at the ground in growing irritation, perhaps even try to smash into him with its powerful neck to knock him over if Shion keeps poking at it.
"That's not the heat you want. I'll see what I can do but I can make no promises… Do we even have any locations in that part of Africa?" Instantly, he feels the bad mood melt away in its voice, the humming now quiet and almost absent minded, as if the cloth is losing itself in its own thoughts, whatever they might be. Shion simply goes back to his work, both quiet for a long while before he hears the humming again; this time, Camelopardalis is prodding at him on a less important matter.
Sigh. "I could cut lines in such a pattern but you do realize there's more than one species of you? They don't all look the same."
All he gets is loud, almost whiny, humming.
With most of the cloths that follow, it's more of the same; there's light chatter, and an expressed wish for home. One cloth rumbles for the waterfalls of Lu Shan while another trumpets to be caged in the icy wastes of Siberia. According to old records, this had happened frequently, though apparently they didn't seem to venture beyond a certain distance of where they liked to 'roost'. In any case, he makes a point of writing it down at the end of the day when he's done with repairing cloths. At times, he takes his meals in the spire but more often, he wanders down to the village to be among people. Typically he shares dinner with Old Mother Tara but other times he's invited to join other families.
This is the established routine for the time being: rising before the sun, a light but energizing meal, and then getting to work on the repairs for most of the day until early evening when Shion calls it a day.
In the meantime…
The young man has come a long way from where he set out, a sunny country in the west. Now, he stands on the precipice that overlooks the thundering waterfall of Lu Shan. If he had the time, he'd lengthen his stay to admire its beauty and all the rest a while longer but that's not why he's here.
"Dilios sent me to find survivors, said that at least one of them would be taking over as Pope of the Sanctuary and to give them the message I'm carrying." A pause as he looks to the man beside him, sitting at the cliff edge in meditation. "Sir Dohko, if you're not the chosen Pope, who is?"
"The man you want is in the mountains, Belen." And before Belen can press for details, he goes on,
"You'll want to head west for the Indochina region. Knowing Shion, he's likely in Jamir and repairing the cloths he's managed to recover."
Belen nods, recognizing the name. He had never been but anyone affiliated with the saints would know of this village with its small population of Muvians. Likely they weren't the only ones but the locations of other Muvian settlements seem to be a closely guarded secret kept by them and theirs. Still, there is one issue:
"How do I reach Jamir?"
Some weeks later, he reaches the village. The reception is lukewarm but whatever their attitudes to outsiders they still welcome him and point the way to the house of the village elder. Belen's initial impression of Tara brings back thoughts of home, particularly his old grandmother back in Rodorio. She treats him about the same, insisting that he eat well before he moves on to the spire if he's not going to rest.
A while later, he's headed for the spire, a boy named Leif coming along to be his guide and also help him access the building, since while it has a door there are no stairs, and no one in the village can tell him whether that was an oversight because of their psychic abilities or just plain laziness. A bit annoying but what can you do?
"Do you know him well?", he asks Leif while they trek along the mountain trail going from the village to the spire, mainly to fill the emptiness with conversation.
"Not particularly. I mean, two nights ago he did accept my family's invitation to dinner but he seems to be focusing on his work and not going out of his way to be social. At the same time, I'm pretty sure he's grateful for the company and noise, since he's always coming down to the village in the evenings."
"I guess that would make sense, given that we've just come out of a war not too long ago. Sir Dohko did warn me that he'd probably be busy too." Pause. "Have you been able to make anything of him in spite of this, Leif?"
There was no response right away, the boy apparently pondering on the question for a bit before giving his answer,
"He's kind, and I suspect he's warmer than he appears but he's also not really letting anyone in right now, except for perhaps Old Mother Tara. Then again, I heard she raised him before he joined the Saints so that would explain it." He briefly halts the conversation to look ahead, trying to gauge their distance from their current position to the spire higher up.
"Still a bit of a climb but we'll be there soon."
"Yes, you're functionally immortal but you still need repairs, damnable bird!"
The scene that greets Belen and Leif's eyes is a strange one: Shion yelling at the Phoenix Cloth while the latter fights a futile battle to shake off the stardust and various other materials off itself by way of thrumming vibrations. And presumably because Cloth repair takes full focus and concentration, Shion hasn't noticed them yet. After a few seconds of this, Belen slowly looks over to Leif and points a finger towards his head before swirling it about in revolutions with a questioning air. The Muvian teen doesn't get it at first, then the question sinks in.
"No, I'm pretty sure he hasn't gone mad, Belen."
"Then why…?"
"From what I've heard about Sir Shion, he was born with the rare ability to communicate with the Cloths. That's likely what's happening now." Pause. "Sounds like a one-sided argument, really." As if to prove his point,
"You're just a glorified peacock that's always on fire!"
Belen glances over to Leif,
"Perhaps we should come back later."
"I'm not sure there's any point in that," Leif replies with a shake of his head. "We'll probably find him exactly like this the next time around; better to get it over with." And before Belen can raise further objections, Leif pushes the door open a bit more before poking his head in and addressing Shion, voice raised to better grab his attention:
"Sir Shion!"
Unsurprisingly, this led to Shion losing the battle of wills against Phoenix Cloth, the latter quickly escaping back into its cloth box and leaving a mess of stardust, tin and copper flakes, and all the various other materials left over from mid-repair. Naturally, the expression he leveled their way was not a happy one.
"Yes, Leif?"
Noting how it seemed to be just a few notches short of a glare, the teenager wasted little time getting to the point,
"Someone from Sanctuary came to see you. I guided him to the spire on the Old Mother's request." And here Belen steps forward, careful not to tread upon any of the scattered materials and components as he produced the letter from within his cloak. There's no proper envelope, instead being paper that was folded in thirds and sealed closed with a wax seal emblazoned with the image of the aegis and the head of the dead gorgon it carried, with long spears crossed over each other behind it.
"My name is Belen and I was sent by Dilios of the Sanctuary Guard to deliver this to the new Pope."
