Palas was a very large city. An enormous city with a maze of streets and water canals. Most of the city filled the crest of land created by the surrounding mountains. The only way out was over or through the mountains or by sea. Towards the south of city was the airship port, up on a hill up against the crest of the mountains. In the east, on a high grassy cliff facing the sea were the cemeteries. The graves were marked with the symbol of Asturia's sea god Jeture, the sea serpent. Below that cliff point was the rest of the nation's capital, separated into so many different districts and neighborhood. Denevive had to wonder how anyone could ever find his or her way in this city. Bridges and ramps were everywhere and the Fanelian didn't know which to take to get back to the palace.
The palace, thought Denevive as he trotted carefully down the streets on his horse, who in the world would name a city after a building? The palace in Palas. It's probably been a common confusion for Asturians. He shook his head, a small, amused grin on his face. He didn't know what was in the tea he had earlier with Celena but it certainly helped dissipate the headache. He suddenly wondered how she was, now that Allen was awake which caused for his hasty departure; and the wondrous treasure still hidden beneath his doublet. He got to thinking about its strange shape and make. At first he thought it must have been a small writer's chest but the shape was different. He finally decided that it looked more like a scroll case, since it was long and rectangular. But it was strange that there was no way to open it. Perhaps there was, though he would have to examine it closer.
Finally fed up with wandering about the city streets, he subjected himself to a small bout of embarrassment and asked a passerby how to get to the palace.
"The palace, you say?" said the older gentleman, seemingly on his way to deliver a large sack of something-or-other. "You're going the wrong way, lad. With a horse, you can't go this way. The canal entrance is this way. You've got to turn back around and head for the land gate. What do you want to go to the palace for, anyway? What with the king dead and all, you wouldn't be able to petition for anything until after the princess' coronation . . ."
"Th-thank you, good sir." Interjected Denevive before the man went off on a tangent the Samurai had no time for. With a brief farewell to the commoner, he set his horse off in a trot again. As he rode, he plucked the mysterious box from under his doublet and examined it while he trotted along the cobblestone. It was rather beautiful to look at, perhaps the reason behind the Schezars keeping it as a decorative artifact. Surely they must have noticed the faint sounds of something rumbling about inside the object, however. And the strange, almost microscopic writing in the painted vines around the edges . . . No matter. He would take a look at it himself now that it was in his possession.
He came to a corner blocked by a water canal. This was getting him no where. Turning his horse back around, who neighed softly in protest, Denevive grumbled to himself. Honestly, how could anyone possibly live in such a maze of a city? Back over the bridge he came from, left instead of right this time ñ someone must have been drunk on Asturian vino when they designed this city.
Off in the distance, the enormous white pillars of the coliseum could be seen from Denevive's standpoint. It suddenly made the young samurai shudder at the thought of what occurred in that arena. How would he be able to hold a sword the same way again? True, he had seen his share of blood and battles but the man he maimed not too long ago . . . that man had been someone Denevive looked up to a great deal. The samurai's swordmaster would speak tales of Balgus, one of the three great swordsman of Gaea. Denevive's swordmaster, too, had been one of those three. It was known that Balgus had served Fanelia and taken in the princes Folken and Van Fanel as his pupils. It was also known to Denevive that Balgus, during a spirit quest, came across a young blond haired bandit. The bandit was confident in his skill and ignorant of Balgus' reputation. Needless to say, the bandit was quickly disarmed. After he pleaded for an end to his life because of his loss, the great Swordmaster decided to take one last pupil under his wing. Thus, Allen Schezar regained his honor and name.
For what, thought the samurai, To have his dignity and livelihood taken away by his rival? In a duel over territory, no less. There was no logic in this, he thought, no logic at all. Again and again, Denevive would tell himself that it wasn't supposed to be this way. They should have done something to stop such a ridiculous event; anything! Instead, he had to be impulsive and brave . . . and careless. The half-elf gulped. Why think of this now? It's useless, for what could he possibly do to change it. The past is the past and he cannot erase what he had done. And he had done it, hadn't he? He simply had to face up to the fact that he was the one who caused this new suffering; for Allen as well as Celena. He never intended for this suffering but it was done.
Denevive felt his hands tremble and he had to tighten the grip on his reigns. How long had he been traveling on this road now? It seemed like a very long time but it was thankfully very frequented by the locals. A main street, he reasoned. He shifted around the grip he had on the box to hold the reigns. Soon the mystery shall be opened.
Beds made such awful noises. Denevive never really noticed what irritating sounds the springs of a bed made before. Why would he notice now more than any other time? His room was quiet, aside from the obnoxious squeaking as he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. The two other samurai that accompanied their king on the accursed journey to Asturia were apparently out with their liege to fulfill some other useless duty. Accursed journey indeed. They had won the duel and kept their land. What was so bad about everything that happened? And why must the question of "Was it really so bad?" plague Denevive to point of ripping his hair out from his scalp?
Mysterious boxes that wouldn't open became rather obnoxious as well. Solid onyx glistened with the light coming from the window as the stone was turned over countless times in Denevive's hands. No way to open it at all and he certainly wouldn't break it. Besides, it would take lot of effort just to crack the smooth stone artifact. Whatever item that was inside could be heard rattling against the walls of the box and this only frustrated the half-elf even more. After all the frustration spent try to find the palace, being yelled at by Jadik for going missing for more than a day without saying where he was going, to come to the peace and quiet of his room only to fiddle around with a hopeless item . . .
It had called to him, however. Not only was he able to read the strange word but he realized he was drawn to it by some unknown force deep within him. Though it stilled called for him, Denevive began to wonder if it only mocked him now. He stopped turning it about in his hands, examining it closely again. A sigh came from him as he brought it close to his face, his violet eyes widening as his hands brushed against the sides of the oblong box. The faintest, most mysterious discovery was suddenly made when Denevive realized the small, thumb-sized indents in the stone.
Funny, thought Celena, how Allen's room could seem so much darker with the curtains open rather than having them drawn. It must have been a psychological occurrence. Not that Celena would know anything about psychology. Though, it seemed that most things around her darkened since Allen's awakening. The strange fit that had passed over him could be heard from the hall, just outside of his room where Celena had sat huddled against the door. She had sat there and listened to her grown brother cry, tears streaming down her own face and wishing she had the strength lift herself up and escape from the heart wrenching sounds from his stricken sobs. Eventually, Allen's slight madness had passed and Celena had been able to re-enter his chambers and help him in his bedridden state.
Carefully, she spooned the thick herbal broth into his awaiting mouth. He ate slowly, as if saving his strength for some great test ahead. Laden with its cargo of precious soup, Celena noticed the long silvery spoon quivering. It took her a few moments to realize that it was not the spoon quivering, but her hand. The reminder of her edgy state only enhanced the shock embedded in her from her earlier encounter with Allen. Unable to control the tremulous dance of the spoon, the warm liquid spilled. To Celena's eyes, the slow-motion decent of the pungent broth was full of rigid suspense. As it splashed the blond-haired knight, Celena darted forward to wipe the embarrassment away.
"I'm sorry." She breathed as she swiped the cloth and dabbed his chin clean. Her tone was filled with a near horror by the actions her ineptitude caused. As she finished cleaning the renegade liquid, she noticed the apparent inaction of her older brother. Looking at his face, one might think that Allen's attention focused on another world, a place far away from the bed in which he reclined. Allen's lack of response unsettled Celena. Afraid for her brother and herself, and of the world in which they now must live, a world where Allen's dignity was in shambles, Celena climbed into bed next to her brother.
Cuddling close to him, and suddenly her head on his shoulder, Celena was unaware of the almost imperceptible tilt of her brother's head against her own as she tried to forget the life they would have to face together.