Chapter 6: First Impressions III

"Great reptiles of immense wing, scale and fang... That doesn't make any sense. Ahamkara are shapeshifters. There is no uniform shape for their kind."

"Ikharos. You're arguing with a book."

"Yes, I know!"

"Just wanted to clear that up." The Ghost bobbed. "Continue."

"Dragons came in an vast assortment of colours..."

"True."

"...and they possessed the abilities to breathe fire and grow to unusually large sizes..."

"Correct and correct."

"It shouldn't be! Ahamkara don't fight. They don't need fire. Hell, only Riven ever used fire on us! And look, it says here carnivorous. Ahamkara don't feed on flesh; they're ontopathic predators of desire!"

"Yup."

"It's all so... wrong!" In a fit of fury, Ikharos threw the book away.

"Wow." His Ghost rotated around to watch it go. "You've never done that before."

Ikharos held his head in his hands. "Nothing makes sense."

"Not yet. Maybe we'll catch a break?"

"Why aren't you worried? You saw what they did on Venus!"

"Honestly? I'm just leaving it for you to figure out. You're the Warlock. You've got this."

"I haven't got anything!" He jumped to his feet and began pacing. "My studies are of history, but there isn't any! Eris-" His voice fell to a whisper. "Eris... she knew Ahamkara, we... we should have found her. Told her."

"We didn't know there would be dragons here."

Ikharos laughed without cheer. "I hate Wish-Dragons."

"Yeah... yeah, I hate them too."

"If we find one this hate will destroy us."

"I know. But it's hard not to. Not after..."

"... Lennox..." The Warlock finished. Those great jaws of finality clamping down on that shred of desire... It was so hard to forget. "And Gecko."

His Ghost floated down and perched on top of the Warlock's discarded helmet. "We can do this."

"We have to." Ikharos set his jaw. "There were Ahamkara here... but where did they go?"

"Dunno. What next?"

The Warlock shrugged. "We move somewhere else. We look for clues."

"And the dragons?"

"The moment we hear anything, we investigate. And then we destroy them."

Ikharos settled on heading ever further south, towards the secluded city of Kuasta. Historically the coast was a prime place to find bustling settlements, and judging from the maps he'd seen it wasn't all that different on Kepler. The walk was long and arduous, but he did not often stop to rest, choosing instead to march on with an air of revitalized determination. He only ever paused to eat from his packed rations which, in turn, granted him the opportunity to look around and appreciate the world around him. The flora and fauna was so natural, so seamless, it almost appeared as if the world was naturally evolved rather than seeded. Like a second Earth.

The only issue he could find with the idyllic walk was that the Spine was in the way and he had no access to his Sparrow. He jogged for parts of it and covered sizable distances, but the rigours of hiking through the mountains was... unpleasant. He was lucky in that, for a while, nothing bothered him. He followed some roads and paths, but there were few peoples brave enough to risk making their way through the mountainous wilds, and when they did appear he kept out of sight when possible. Ikharos hadn't spotted anyone coming from Teirm's direction, but that didn't mean the soldiers gave up. Still, even with horses, they would have been hard pressed to catch him. The animals would have struggled with the terrain, whereas it was perfect for Guardians - he could hide away in the Spine forever if he so desired it.

Alas his reverie was broken as he settled down one evening to work on cooking a block of instant-noodles. A single Urgal broke away from the trees some distance away. It wasn't of the larger kind, but it still looked physically powerful and its from its head sprouted thick curling horns, all on top of a body scarred from numerous old fights. Its armour was in better quality than those of the north, yet nothing on the soldiers of Teirm. It had a hand axe clutched tightly in one hand and its furious gaze saw nothing but the Warlock in front of him.

Ikharos grunted in annoyance and raised a hand encased in the unescapable force of the universe. "Go away."

It startled, but like a starving Dreg it was not to be dissuaded. It charged. The Warlock sent a seeker projectile straight at it, spiking its heart and atomizing the remains. He ignored the smell of Solar smoke and sated himself with curry-flavoured noodles.

Kuasta was as far away as Narda was to Teirm. Ikharos gave it his best, but he barely made it within sight of the Kuastan lowlands five weeks after beginning his trek. Spring had passed in that time and they were now entering the warm summer months. He had come to the conclusion that the hours in local day and the seasons in local year were identical to that of the Earth itself, which itself immensely disconcerting. Kepler-186f should have had a different orbital and rotational period. That something on-world potentially had the power to alter the planet's orbit was... frightening.

Ikharos shook his head. He was only driving himself into a panic. He forced himself back in the moment, if only to draw up a plan to match the question of What next?

Kuasta looked more intimidating at a distance than Teirm had been. It was twice as large and with a much larger bay at its disposal. The city, much like its northern sibling, was laid out strategically and possessed strong defensive walls, but this time the outer villages were protected too. They were organized into independent burhs. Considering the isolated nature of Kuasta and the surrounding lowland region, it likely needed needed the superior protection. The fortified settlements below did the job wonderfully. There were garrisons dotted around the lowlands, but most appeared to serve local militias rather than Imperial soldiers. Either they were gung-ho martial enthusiasts or bandit/Urgal attackswere a real menace.

Ikharos marched to stopped at one of those villages. The lands of the Kuastan region were flat and the farms were prosperous, but everything had a haggard air to it. Eyes were on him the moment he entered the settlement, almost all narrowed in hostile suspicion. The palisade of wood and mud was old and bore the marks of attempted raids, and the villagers inside wore sullen expressions in uniformity. Their glares, however, were almost exclusively reserved to what few Imperials patrolled to the village. There was a bitter tension in the air and he wasn't the cause. It didn't take him long to figure out why.

Three red garbed soldiers were on their way to drinking themselves into a stupor outside a collapsed husk of a buildings, left as nothing more than scorched rubble. It barely being midday; certainly too early for thought-curdling libations. They were at the point when they were mean and dangerous, their minds semi-clear and devoid of all rationality. One of them had begun bellowing insults at whatever passerby caught his attention, swaying on his feet and squinting hard. How the man didn't see the Ikharos strolling past was beyond his ability to comprehend. Even so, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he proceeded towards a house with a shopfront, selling tools and produce and whatever else was deemed profitable. Just the place he wanted to find. He traded fifteen crowns, perhaps an overly generous amount, for a loaf of bread and an assortment of fruit and vegetables. It was a pity there wasn't a bakery. He would have willingly taken a death for just one croissant - ooh, maybe even from that lovely little place in the Peregrine District. They made the best pastries in all of Sol, and that was no exaggeration.

The soldiers started to laugh with drunken giddiness. Irritating. Even so, it wasn't his place to interfere. Or rather, that had been Ikharos's mindset until one of the soldiers grabbed a young local woman by the arm and forcibly tugged her over.

Ikharos walked over, fast, but he couldn't make it through the growing mob that had rapidly formed up in front of the Imperials. Not that the soldiers relented, no, they took it as a challenge. One drew his sword and his companions followed suit. "Move on, now, or I'll stick ye like pigs!"

The sight of bare steel played its effect on the villagers, but it only further aggravated him. He had spent decades stamping out that exact type of authority on Earth.

The local militia mobilized near instantly - and in opposition to the soldiers. Though they had little better than spears, hunting bows and long knives, they didn't look like they cared for the difference in weapon quality. Five of them converged on the scene and... well, it devolved into a classic stand-off from there.

It struck a chord in Ikharos. It gave him pause.

Nine guns aimed at the Hunter. Ikharos held back the death crackling between his fingertips - a hungry abyss eager to rip apart the life of any who stood against him - and noted his companion's stance. This was the Gunslinger's show, and he wanted it clean.

The Warlord just wanted it over with.

"This is not your home," the magistrate bit out. His eyes said it all - he was shattered inside. A wounded beast snapping at everything around it, be it friend or foe. "This is our town! My town!"

Ikharos walked the nullscape. The pristine absolute entranced him, kept him from tearing out what little life remained in the pitiful excuse for a human before him.

The Hunter grunted. "Not anymore."

The magistrate, a dictator of fifty, laughed. "Those gonna be your last words then, boy?"

Ikharos studied the movement with a detached familiarity, watched the cannon rip out of the holster and fire just once. Everyone else just saw the flash.

"Yours, not mine."

The Warlord saw another Light die that day. Fate was a gambit in which there were no safe bets. The Awoken tried their best to traverse that labyrinth, but there were monster in there to hunt the wannabe oracles, creatures whose function vexed. But sometimes, rarely, he saw a flickering pattern in the insatiable unreality beyond it all. He saw the Man with the Golden Gun die that day. He saw the torch pass on to another, growing brighter, casting larger shadows.

"I'm done here," the Voidwalker growled, his heart full of grief.

Ikharos shook his head. History loved its endeavours, but always with a different flavour. There was no flame here, no bright light to lead or cleanse. Only an abyss.

"Enough," he ordered. His helmet magnified his voice. All eyes turned to him. The mob gave way to him, to the man in shining plasteel and pale hadronic cloth. His Lumina was in hand, a dark, picked-to-the-bone mirror to its old counterpart. "Let her go."

"Shut up!" The soldier snarled. "To disobey soldiers of the empire is treason! All you piggies, all treasonous! We'll stick you just like 'em monks! Get back, or we'll-"

The Warlock didn't even need to Blink. He raced forward, broke the arm clutching the poor woman, and slammed the guard into the ground. He was alive, groaning miserably, but only just. Ikharos paused. He wanted to go on, go further, to make them hurt, but... It brought him back to those dark days before order, where the only way to make an opinion clear was a bullet between someone else's eyes.

He couldn't go back to that. Couldn't.

The unconscious soldier's compatriots froze up. One of them tried a wild swing with his blade and Ikharos let him. The steel weapon thudded against the Braytech armour and chipped. Ikharos was left entirely unharmed. No further attempts were made. They held out their empty hands and begged for their lives.

The Voidwalker scoffed and left them behind. The mob parted before him without so much as a whisper.

"You think that might have been overkill?"

"Overkill would have involved disintegrating them."

His Ghost moved her shell in her best impression of a shrug. "Maybe. You don't need to fix every evil, you know. You're not Osiris. You can't be everywhere at once."

"I can still deal with them when they're in reach."

"Suit yourself. Oh, and you do know those guards are probably dead, right?"

Ikharos almost stumbled. "But... I held back. I didn't even touch the other two."

"Oh, you didn't kill them. But the village will."

"Did I miss something?"

The Ghost twirled, proud of herself, even if the topic was grim. "I looked around, eavesdropped, the works. These people hate the empire."

"Why?"

"Faith. They had a religion. That broken building? One of their chapels. They believe in the Arcaena or something. No idea what it is. The important thing is that the empire tried to stamp it out and the people here weren't happy with that."

"I don't like this empire."

"Thinking of replacing it?"

"No," he said firmly. "That's not who I am."

"Used to be a different case."

"I did what I had to."

"Oh, I know. That's why I haven't left you."

The city of Kuasta had a huge river of traffic coming and going through all three of its monumental gates, with long roads filled to the brim with folk from the surrounding settlements. Ikharos liked how it was all laid out. There was an order to it. It was designed with practical function in mind, for both dispensing with the queues that inevitably formed and for the dreaded occasion a siege would threaten it.

There were far more Imperials in the city than the villages beyond, and the residents still held for them that same seething hatred. Ikharos was wise enough to heed his Ghost's words and tried his best to avoid drawing attention to himself. Fighting three soldiers was different to an army. Killing hundreds, perhaps thousands, was not on his agenda. He just wanted to figure things out. A bigger city meant bigger library (he hoped), so that meant more books, which in turn meant more available intel. He couldn't risk ruining his chances of that.

He was fortunate that the evening was a such busy time for Kuasta, as people raced to leave or enter the city before the gates closed for the night. Ikharos blended in with the crowd as best he was able to and traversed the urban environment, finding a semi-respectable inn and paying for a room. The remainder of the day and the entirety of the night was largely uneventful. There was little to occupy his time.

Ikharos meditated until morning.

The city was about to erupt. No matter where he went, it felt like it was all going to blow up into chaos and bloodshed. It was uncomfortable to be between the people of Kuasta and the Imperials, seen as ally to neither, just a suspicious stranger in their midst. The markets almost made up for that. It was disorderly and full of wonder. It reminded him of the Last City's bazaars, back before the Red War. Strange enticing smells filled the air, drawing customers to the stalls selling exotic and foreign foods, while the sheen of valuable jewels and metals attracted their own curious crowds. Bits and bobs like no others were displayed in plenty. Ikharos drifted around, just looking, when a piece of conversation drafted into his helmet's audioreceptors.

"...flute is made from real dragonbone," one merchant proudly exclaimed, holding up an ivory instrument before a very impressed trio of boys. Ikharos instantly changing directions, a hand reaching for his cannon. His eyes narrowed in on the bone. It was already too late, the beast was already gorging itself on bared desires and naked greed, and soon it would return with its flesh restored, to further feed off the terrified wishes of the city's-

"It's fake."

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"It's a cow bone. Not dragon."

Traveler curse sleazy men and their counterfeits. Ikharos sighed in relief. He didn't want to think about how utterly nightmarish the scenario could have become. He took a few minutes to calm down and temper his racing heart. Of all the monsters he had faced, all the horrors he'd seen laid low, few could match the sheer devastation posed by hungry dragons.

He had to move on. The library was his next priority. When asked, a kindly old man pointed him in the one direction with downcast eyes. Ikharos soon found out why. The building looked to have been demolished some time ago - perhaps in an Imperial purge of the Arcaena? It was a pity regardless. The structure's surviving foundations showed it might have been three times the size of the library in Teirm, or even larger. All that knowledge destroyed... it was travesty. His answers could very well have been in there. He hated that. It was a story with no ending. A puzzle missing a piece. Ikharos felt physically unwell. How could anyone order this?

He retreated to the inn and stayed in his room, resigning himself to reviewing the map of Alagaësia for another destination to march towards. He felt... lost.

A wakeup call came in the middle of the night in the form of his Ghost whispering rather loudly into his ears, warning him of a band of soldiers marching outside. Ikharos gathered his belongings and packed it away within moments. The marching ceased, followed by someone banging on the door of the inn.

"They're not the idiots I thought they were," his Ghost remarked. "The Teirm guys must have told their friends."

"Probably." Ikharos Blinked outside the back of the establishment. A part of him worried that he was running out of cities to stay in. The rate at which he was being kicked out was concerning.

He made it all of ten paces before he noticed them: two men in dark robes waiting in the next alley. Oh, he was a fool. He had underestimated the people of this planet. They had no Lightbearers, but that wasn't to say they didn't have their own version of Techeuns. He could feel a faint and impossible power emanating from the two, weak by Sol standards. What was worse was that he could feel their minds. As soon as their mental tendrils touched the barricades around his mind, they beat a hasty retreat. They knew that he was aware of them.

No time to waste, then.

Ikharos Blinked again, grabbing one of the pseudo-Techeuns and throwing him hard against the alley wall. The second panicked, tried to force a battle of mental willpower, but the Warlock's consciousness brushed the attempt aside and immobilized that of the Imperial. He grabbed the soldier's shoulder and channeled a brief burst of Light into enough Arc to drop his opponent. It all took no less than two seconds. The Risen regarded the motionless forms of the two with vague curiosity, then bolted. He reckoned it wouldn't have taken the soldiers long to figure out he had escaped. Or maybe they already had; another man was creeping up to the corner of the alley, keeping close against the building's stone wall, outlined on his HUD. The Warlock readied his knife.

"Wait. Not a soldier. Don't-"

Ikharos burst out and slammed into the stranger. He dragged them back into the concealment granted by the alley, and pressed the knife close to the man's neck. "Shut up or die."

The limp forms of the not-Techeuns right beside them helped drill the message home. His prisoner shuddered, but the Guardian didn't pay any attention. If he could... yes... that would work. It wouldn't be quiet, but he'd be out of here.

He dragged in as much Void as he dared, enough to level a city block, and forced reality to accept his demand. Space was torn apart and it was loud.

"Speak."

The prisoner was dressed in light black clothes, perfect for stalking the streets unseen at night. Everything about him screamed thief. But that didn't explain why he was so close to the inn. Those soldiers were not the subtle type. Near half the city should have heard them. Something was off.

The man gulped nervously. He sat by a tree, and though he wasn't tied to it, there was no illusion that he could escape. Ikharos had just teleported them both far out of Kuasta. Perhaps not the most common use of a Super, but so few Warlocks used the Void that they didn't know how easily molded it was. Even now, the Guardian rolled a tiny black hole the size of a marble around his fingers. He had all the power and they both knew it.

"I... uh..."

"We'll start with a name," the Warlock told him.

"K-Kuirst."

"Well, Kuirst, you better give me something good or I'm going to erase you from existence. Talk."

"A-about what?"

"Dragons."

"Dr-dragons?"

"I won't repeat myself."

"Th-they've been extinct f-for some time, sir. Big beasts, w-with wings and scales."

Ikharos suppressed a groan. "Yes, I think we all know that. Where did they come from?"

"Come from? I-I d-don't know... They've b-been here in Alagaësia since... forever."

"Ah, you see, that doesn't help me in any way. Where did they live?"

"Live? I-I don't know!"

Ikharos briefly looked away. "... Fine. What about your king?"

"'Your' king?" Kuirst's eyes widened. "You truly don't work for Galbatorix?"

"Wait, hold on, you thought I worked for your king?"

Kuirst's terror melted away, though Ikharos couldn't comprehend why. "We heard about... You're the wizard from Teirm!"

Ikharos paused. "I feel like I've missed something." He extinguished the black hole and sat down opposite Kuirst. "You don't... work for the empire?"

"No!"

"But you were with the soldiers."

"No, I... we heard about the wizard in Teirm and then you arrived in Kalas-"

"Kalas?"

"The village where you-"

"Had a run-in with an Imperial soldier?"

"Yes, and-"

"Who's this 'we'? And don't draw it out. I'm getting impatient."

"We're the rebels!"

"Rebels..." The Warlock nodded and sighed. "Of course. you're a rebel. Continue."

"We heard you came this way, through Kalas. Another message had come from Teirm by ship-"

"Psekisk," the Warlock grumbled. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. "Sorry. Please, do go on."

Kuirst looked a tad unsettled, but he recovered quickly. "Another message came from Teirm with orders for soldiers to arrest any man wearing... well, what you wear. We heard what happened. We have friends in the garrison, you see, and we knew you were no friend of the empire, so we-"

"I think I understand." The Risen tilted his head. "But this is all verrrry farfetched. I feel inclined to disbelieve you."

"I'm telling the truth! I'm part of the Varden!"

Ikharos crouched before his prisoner. "There are ways of finding out." He opened up his hand for his Ghost. She materialized with a brief flash.

Kuirst flinched. "Wh-what is that?!"

"This? This is Xiān. She'll know if you're lying or not."

The Ghost's eye flashed to life, scanning the trembling Kuirst in harmless beams of Light. It took mere moments. Once finished, she turned to Ikharos and reported, "Yeeeeaaaah, the kid's being honest with you."

"... Ah."

"So you've pretty much just kidnapped and threatened the life someone who wanted to help you."

"It was in the spur of the moment and I'd just killed two... Kuirst?"

"Y-yes?" The terror was back. It was preferable, in all honesty. Ikharos didn't know what to make of the other emotion. Elation was hardly something he'd link with being snatched by a seemingly all-powerful entity of dubious intentions.

"Those two... not-soldiers back there, those men, what were they?"

"Mages. O-of the king's employ."

"Ah." Because that made little sense at all. "Mages? As in... magic? How did they come by their abilities?"

"M-mages are b-born with it. You a-aren't a mage?"

"No, I'm a Guardian. Lightbearer." Ikharos hummed thoughtfully. "So some people are just born with paracausal capabilities? That sounds... dangerous."

"The king controls them, b-because he's the most powerful of the lot."

"This king of yours doesn't sound like a very pleasant man."

"That is why we rebel." Kuirst struggled to his feet. "We have to return, please. My comrades will-"

"Not so fast. I need something."

"Pardon?"

"I am investigating something... worrying. I need a library or another place that keeps historical documents."

"We... you'll want the Arcaena. Their Reliquary holds the oldest scriptures in all of the empire. I-it's not my decision to make, but if you help us, I'll try to convince them."

The Warlock smiled. Finally, some luck. "That sounds acceptable. Lead the way."

AN: First off, thanks for all the nice reviews and such. For my first entry on this site, it's pretty nice. The entire reason for this is... well, I like Destiny. I like Inheritance Cycle. Thus, this.

Thanks for reading.