Happy New Year, everyone! I hope you're all safe, healthy, and enjoying yourselves. And if not, then I sincerely wish all the best for you moving forward! Let's make the most out of this year, yeah?
I would be remiss to forget to mention that this now marks three years of writing Weight of a Name. Technically, last chapter was the three year mark, off by ten days still, but I feel its worth mentioning. The fact that some of you have read along for that long is insane to me. Make no mistake: this is a hobby. I do this for fun in my spare time, usually when the fancy finds me. And despite setting out to do it for fun it somehow feels "justified" knowing that other folks have enjoyed it for so long.
So in short, thank you. Thank you for reading as a silent fan of the story. Thanks to those who leave reviews, send DMs, or share it. It's not about numbers, it never is, but I can't deny that having seen a gradual uptick as I've continued hasn't made me feel like I've been improving, or that you folks feel like the story is worth sharing. And that means a lot to me.
Okay, New Year gushing aside, lets get into things!
No sign of Grimm.
No people. No other villages. Not even a trace of civilization. All Nike could see beneath her as she coasted along air currents was the endless forests. A sea of emerald green, one which few travelers dared to navigate.
Years ago, from her home high above in Agria, she had looked down upon it with wonderment. Before her venture into the greater world she had never known other peoples. Had intrinsically understood more existed somewhere because they got the occasional visitor. Yet in those halcyon days Nike had only ever known the mountain peaks, the guttering valleys below, and the forest that stretched on to the horizon. Little had changed since then.
To find a Grimm amongst the boughs and thickets was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Or more aptly, a pebble in the ocean. Sure, she would occasionally encounter a stray Nevermore or two, giving them a wide berth as she traveled aloft, and the infrequent Beowolf roamed the clearings, but nothing close to Zagori. Nothing to cause immediate concern.
A fool's errand, Charon had called it. Consider her a fool then. If Weiss deemed Zagori worth the trouble of saving, then she would spare no effort in offering her aid. She would canvas the area as many times as it took until they found where the beast made its den.
"Here, Grimmy, Grimmy."
As though that would do anything. With the wind howling around her, her magic doing the bare minimum to create a buffer, she could hardly make out her own voice. She doubted any Grimm crawling below heard her either.
Banking right, she twisted herself and dove. Magic coalesced and formed a transparent shell as she hurtled towards the ground, wings folding against her back. Then, as the canopies raced to meet her, she unfurled and cast her magic down, beating her wings with mighty strokes. The muscles in her back protested as they always did, her breathing coming in sharp gasps, but the sudden stop worked. With her spear in one hand, she canvassed the ground below and spotted what she had from above, a lone Beowolf prowling the forest.
Red eyes glowed up at her, a long, garishly purple tongue lapped at its jowls, dribbling black saliva over its forepaws. Nike considered killing it just for the sport. A thrust through the skull, slicing it in two, or simply reducing it to ash with a bolt of magic.
The Beowolf snarled and rose onto its hind legs, flexing its claws as it snapped up at her.
Nike stuck out her tongue and took off in a low flight over the trees.
Eliminating every Grimm on Remnant was a fool's errand. If she slew each beast she saw she would never make it back to exhausted, more like than not, and end up fodder for some lowly monster that normally wouldn't make her flinch. Some just needed to be left alone. So long as they weren't near a settlement they could be allowed to exist.
To harry travelers, ruin local hunting grounds, and roam at their leisure, lethality unchecked.
Her hand tightened around the spear's shaft. Cold wind bit into her as she soared, not bothering to waste magic in curbing the chilly air. The cold kept her alert. Helped keep her blooming irritation from becoming an inferno of frustration.
Back to town first. She would report to Weiss, apologize when she inevitably snapped for going off without a word, then perhaps train to excise her discontent.
Or maybe a pint or two of ale, provided Zagori had any to spare. Though given the town's remoteness she might be better off melting snow and drinking that instead.
Trees passed beneath her in a blur, the wintry winds slicing through the pocket of warm air she created, and for a moment Nike closed her eyes and listened. To the words of the mountains tumbling down their snow-crusted faces, carried on the wind like the whisperings of a forlorn lover. Reached with a spark of magic, a tentative offering to the wilds, and sought out currents stemming from Agria. That she might glean something from her home high above, nestled among the peaks. That perhaps for the first time in years she could hear the familiar chorus that surrounded her home. The whistling notes as air danced through caves, the creak of hardy, stubborn plants clinging to rocks, and the sonorous howls of wolves struggling to survive another day in the cold, harsh, yet beautiful environs.
Nike extended her hand. Agria remained shuttered behind a door. Out of reach even now. Her songs deafened, suppressed by distance, by a lack of familiarity. She didn't know which. Only that the lack of answer left her chest aching terribly.
So be it. She chose to leave, and if her home scorned her for her disloyalty then she would welcome that scorn. Even if her family turned her away upon her return she would like to see it, just once, just to know it still survived.
Her wings stretched as a warm air current caught her from below, taking it to soar higher again. Letting her tensions go with a breathy sigh she rolled over slowly, opened her eyes to the heavens above. Watched as the blue sky raced along with her. Clouds, larger than any town or city, drifted by with languid pace, idling in their carefree existence. Whimsically, she extended a hand towards them, wondering if she might venture high enough to touch them someday. A fancy she'd never entertained, but maybe once she returned home. Just once.
"Great. Not even home yet and I'm being a sentimental mess." Gods, at this rate she would blubber in front of Weiss once they reached Agria. She couldn't let her mistress… Her friend see that. She'd never live it down. Snorting, Nike rolled back over and shook her head with a rueful smile.
Zagori reappeared in the distance, a spattering of ramshackle buildings tucked at the foot of one of the smaller mountains. Barely a splotch on the green canvas of the forest.
It was any wonder the people had survived for so long, so removed as they were. At least her home had its share of warriors and Magi. They would survive and endure the harshest of winters and any Grimm foolish enough to test their mettle. But Zagori?
Nike's eyes drifted back to the forest as she bobbed on the winds, and with a sudden grunt she brought herself to a swinging halt, kicking her legs forward and leaning back into the currents. Idling, she stared down at the trees, through the packets of foliage and detritus. Black smoke rose from the forest ground, miasma, although faint traces. The sort one might expect to find as remains of a recently slain Grimm.
Her vision crawled forward and her blood chilled as she realized there were more spots like that. More signs that Grimm had been nearer than they may have thought, encroaching on the hamlet without their knowing. And she had flown right over them, wholly unawares.
Weiss must have killed them. Did that mean she was in the forest now, seeking out Grimm? Her heart ached again for a wholly different reason, and with a curse Nike began searching for signs of a struggle nearby. With the winds at her command, she drew noises up from the forest floor, listening, begging the wilds to cooperate with her. Skittering rodents. Birdsong. No signs of Grimm. No howls or roars, nor the panicked cries of wildlife trying to get clear of the carnage. Recent, but not so much that the forest hadn't calmed.
Nike had begun to consider her concerns a folly when ice erupted from ahead. Twin spires rocketed up from below and pierced the trees, and in another instant shattered, toppling over and crashing to the ground.
She didn't need magic to fly but Nike used it anyways, slamming a gale force wind into her back and propelling herself towards Zagori. She dropped her shields and embraced the wind tearing at herself in exchange for conjuring lightning.
Faster. Her wings beat in a frantic rhythm, muscles burning from overextension. Her back tightened, her shoulders screaming at her to refrain. She ignored it.
A spume of water fired into the air, froze, and rained shards of ice down. Still fighting. Desperately.
Not a Grimm. Weiss could handle a Grimm. Even if she needed to protect the hamlet on her own.
Coiling and sparking, lightning leapt off her hand before she'd even reached Zagori's airspace. Purple bolts screeched down, screeching like a flock of birds aflight. The trees and ground became cast in a violent glow, and the latter erupted on impact, stray bolts crackling and seeking out her target.
From the cloud of dust, she watched Weiss, dirtied and bloodied, racing back on a trail of ice. And seconds behind a figure clad in white darted after them, dragging behind a silver scythe.
Protect. The word cycled through her head as she dropped from the sky, spear aimed square at the figure's back. Her ears rang with the howling wind, eyes burning, every muscle in her body straining as she fought to keep her form. An arrow notched from a ballista, the distance between her and the figure closed in mere seconds, her blade coming within inches of their spine.
The figure vanished. Nike's knees nearly exploded on impact, gritting her teeth and regretting it a second later as her jaw almost broke. With dust obscuring her vision she turned on instinct and swung her spear, her arm shaking as she smashed into the scythe's shaft. Metal stopped within inches of her throat, dripping with blood.
Weiss' blood.
Ice soared past her and forced the figure back, shards burying themselves deep in the earth. As soon as the volley ended Nike propelled herself forward, imbued her spear with wind, and thrust. Again, and again, and again.
Yet no matter how quickly she moved, how she forced her body to work harder still, the figure dodged. Air fired from her spear's head in bursts, slamming into trees beyond and shearing bark and flesh from the trunks. On another thrust she overcompensated and swung high, nearly losing her footing in her haste. The figure ducked, swung their scythe back, and Nike realized in cold terror that her ribs were left exposed and unprotected.
Nike braced as the blade cleaved towards her.
Something struck her side. Not a blade, there was no sharp, slicing pain or warmth of spilled blood. Metal scraped against metal, sparks flew, and both she and Weiss were sent sprawling. Her arms went around the smaller woman instinctually, wings taking the brunt of the impact as they fell. Stone tore into her feathers and stripped some, leaving a dull itching sensation in their absence. With a grunt they came to a stop, and immediately Nike turned and threw herself bodily along, wind tossing them out of the scythe's reach.
"Nike, where – "
"Later!" Nike took a few precious seconds to inspect Weiss. Bleeding gash on her shoulder, blood on her temple. Eyes clear, alert, breathing heavy but not strained. "Stay behind me and fight at a distance."
"I will do no such thing!"
She didn't argue. She simply left Weiss on the ground and shot back to her feet, ruffling her wings and steadying her spear. The white robed figure did not approach. Circled, scythe angled in one hand, blade down, but they did not approach. Uncertain, more likely than not now that Nike had appeared. Or considering their options.
Well, Nike had only one as far as she was concerned. Lightning came to her beck and call once more, enveloping her body in a protective shell. She conjured wind and felt her limbs lighten, rising to the balls of her feet and readying to react to the next attack. A scythe. Sweeping attacks. Hooks. Jabs, if the shaft was used. She could respond to those all with ease. Nothing she couldn't handle.
"Be careful," Weiss commanded.
Lips curling, Nike redoubled her grip on her spear and snorted. "Always."
The figure moved so swiftly Nike didn't even have time to yelp in surprise. Training saved her leg as the scythe swung down, catching the blade against the reinforced haft of her spear. The figure tugged, Nike went with it, loosening her grip and twirling the spear instead of resisting. The spearhead just narrowly missed her opponent's throat. She jumped over the low swing. Ducked beneath a high one. Her spear whistled as she spun it, keeping the enemy from making any attacks. They dodged, which was annoying, but they also didn't attack back either. And when Weiss split the ground at their feet and nearly swallowed them up they were forced further back still, directly into the path of Nike's spear lunge.
She figured she was fucked when half her spear went sailing in one direction, the wood shattered. 'Fucked' became 'royally fucked' when the scythe's shaft slammed her wrists and forced her to drop the corpse of a weapon she had wielded.
Ice hurtled past the figure. Nike's magic armor crackled and hissed on impact, then broke as the scythe sliced through it, gouging her side and almost spinning her around. With a scream she drove herself forward and into the figure, slamming bodily against them and knocking them back. Before they got too far, she grabbed their shirt and pulled them forward, slamming her head into theirs. The satisfying crunch of bone on bone left the figure staggering and Nike a little more than lightheaded. Still holding, she tried again but wheezed as a knee slammed into her stomach, losing her grip.
Weiss pressed the attack. Gods bless her, she kept up a flurry of spells as she moved towards Nike, weaving runes with shocking speed. Ice. Fire. Wind. Earth. Water. Lightning. That she did all of it while moving, keeping her rapier in hand, was nothing short of astounding. Nike might have to give her an earnest compliment after all this was over.
Except the figure didn't seem the least bit bothered by it all. Dodging most spells, twirling their scythe and cleaving away the rest. Moving so fast that their body turned to a blur, spells passing harmlessly through them.
"Speed magic," she offered helpfully.
"I've realized!"
"They're fast," Nike added less helpfully. Her fingers grew wet with blood as she grasped the wound at her side. She felt her head beginning to spin, either from expending magic or blood loss. Either way, not great. "We need to slow them."
"I. Have. Been. Trying!"
The scythe gouged the ground between them. Might have cleaved them too if a spell on both their parts did not send them skidding away.
"Well, try harder!" Nike howled. Her lightning missed and left a smoldering hole on the ground.
At least the villagers had the sense to back the hell off. In her peripherals she could see them cowering, tucked behind buildings and behind crates, logs, or each other. Sure, don't give them the same warm welcome we got! Assholes!
Weiss, who had been amid conjuring another set of runes, stumbled. Tripping over the same hole Nike had created with her first barrage of magic. Runes shattered, and Weiss' stance broke, arms pinwheeling as she fought to keep from toppling backwards.
Before the figure had gotten anywhere near Weiss, Nike used her magic to retrieve her broken spearhead. Her body trembling, she arched back and hurled the makeshift javelin, begging for it to reach in time. Then pleading as she realized it moved too slowly, crying out as the scythe's blade arched behind Weiss, racing towards her lower back.
"Weiss!"
The spear flew wide. The figure, unharmed, completed her cleave.
Weiss vanished in a puff of black smoke.
Nike almost collapsed when her orientation changed. One second, she had been staring at the cloaked figure and the next she found herself deposited behind a building beside frantic villagers. One of the children squealed in fright and dove into someone's arms. And Weiss, who was subsequently birthed from a black pit that formed beside her, collapsed and looked around in a panic, ashen faced and trembling.
"What? Where are we?!"
A calm, composed, somewhat smart-ass Nike might have responded with a cheeky remark. "Behind a building," she stammered, gawping at the white clad figure now standing alone in the center of Zagori, surrounded by smoldering pits and looking just as mystified as them. Not that she could see the bastard's face. "How… How'd you do that?"
Coughing, Weiss swayed as she stood, grimacing and closing one eye. "I didn't."
Shadows had saved them. Nike's mind immediately went to the Faunus girl, Blake. Had they been found? Weiss seemed to have the same notion as she scoured the area for signs of her friend, though they both came up short.
Not Blake. It wasn't Blake who now strode towards the figure with a languid gait, hunched over and rubbing his head like he'd just been pulled from a nap.
"This is quite a ruckus you're causing here, friend." Charon rolled his neck and gave the figure a half-cocked smile, eyes barely open. He had to be blasted, Nike assumed. Drunk off his ass and out of his mind. "Might I ask why you're attacking our guests?"
Twirling their scythe, the figure dipped their head slightly and began to circle again. Charon, the idiot he was, did not bother moving. Did not try to flee or raise any protection for himself. He kept on watching with that same delirious smile. "He's going to fucking die."
"Well aware, thank you!" Weiss hissed, halfway to bringing forth new runes.
Charon raised a hand in their direction, keeping his eyes on the stranger. A slight shake of his head and he stood a little taller, adjusting the drawstrings on his tunic with a loud sigh.
"Grimm are coming."
The figure slowed, lowering their weapon slightly and tilting their head as if in question.
"If you are a Warden, then your duty is to protect the citizens of this kingdom," Charon continued, gesturing to the raggedy white cloak. "If you are a Magi, you have a moral obligation to protect the defenseless. And, if you are simply a traveler…"
A screeching cry split the air, driving Weiss to cover her ears and wince in pain, falling to one knee and dropping her weapon. It increased in pitch and Nike found her skull rattling, slamming her hands over her ears not long after. Even then it rang impossibly loud, making the very hollows of her bones tremble in terror.
Charon rubbed at one ear and frowned while the figure covered the side of their head, never relinquishing their scythe. "I would ask you cease your murder for the moment and help me protect these people."
From the treeline a gangly abomination rushed forth. On twin bladed legs it dragged itself forward, six legs bent in awkward directions scuttling along. Its long, slender body swaying like a serpent, it raced headlong towards the cloaked figure, mandibles as long as Nike's forearm snapping. A bladed limb swung at the figure, missing as they ducked beneath, then snapped back and nearly took off their head. The scythe struck the limb and scraped along the chitin, failing to penetrate. Another swung, another failure, and the cloaked figure darted back to regroup, retreating right towards Charon.
Beowolves surged from the trees. A Death Stalker crashed through the brush, crushing Creeps underfoot as it barreled ahead. A low, bellowing scream signaled the approach of a Minos, a bull-headed humanoid that threw aside Beowolves in its path. And from above a pair of Nevermore cried out, their mammoth blackened frames blotting out the sun as they began their descent.
Around them villagers screamed and wailed, scrambling towards whatever shelter they could find or huddling together. Beside her, Weiss cursed softly and went slack, gaping at the onslaught of Grimm appearing before them.
Nike might have soiled herself. Or it could be the blood leaking out of her side. Later, provided there was a later, she'd claim the latter. It sounded far more heroic.
The cloaked figure moved in a blur, trying to find an opening against the octo-limbed snake-like abomination, all while the rest of the Grimm rushed towards them.
Charon's mouth moved but whatever words he uttered went wholly unheard over the cries and howls. Sweeping a hand back through his hair, he raised the other to the air, twisted his wrist, and snapped his fingers.
And one by one, without so much as a whimper, the Grimm were reduced to dust.
Leaving naught in their wake but the confused, desperate cries of villagers and the new sensation of dread-inspired awe in Nike's gut.
Not looking the least like a man who had just saved their skins with a literal flick of the wrist, Charon rolled his neck then turned to face the white cloaked figure. Same lazy posture, same tired smile, and no immediate signs he would attack as his hands dropped into his trouser pockets.
"Now then," Nike heard him drawl, taking slow steps towards the figure. "I believe you were trying to kill our guests earlier?" He rolled one shoulder and huffed a laugh. "Mind if I take their place?"
The figure stepped back once, then twice, lowering their scythe. Then, with the faintest shake of their head, they vanished in a flurry of white petals.
Charon chuckled, freeing a hand to rub at his face. "Huh. I thought not."
/+/+/+/+/+/
"What in the actual hells was that?"
"Weiss, please watch your language. There are children –"
"I have fought Grimm before. I have seen people kill them in droves, with great expenditure of energy," Weiss stalked towards Charon, storming towards the lone figure now in the center of town. "What I have not seen, ever, is a man dispatch a horde with a flick of a 're a Magi."
Not just a Magi. The Branwens, powerful in their own right, could not do that. Hells forefend, Weiss wasn't even sure she could see an Archbishop wielding that kind of power. Or anyone but them. To dispose of so many beasts so easily without breaking a sweat was impossibly difficult. For Charon to use that kind of power…
Nike straggled behind, coming up beside her with a hobbled gait, hand still clutching her side. "If you can do that then you do not need us. You never needed us," she hissed. "You've been lying to these people."
"Ah, I have not been lying. I… Omitted that part."
"It is a lie!" Weiss shouted. Head throbbing. Ears ringing. Not the worst fight she'd been in, far from it, but all avoidable. Only if Charon hadn't deigned to come in at the last godsdamned moment and try to play hero. Her jaw ached as she ground her teeth, storming up to the man. Putting aside his immense power as she slammed a fist into his chest, taking a minute pleasure in watching him stumble back.
"A single Grimm? Zagori has supposedly been suffering a single Grimm for ages now, and yet you can do that? How many people have died because of your inaction? How many restless nights have these people spent in terror, fearing their lives could end at any moment?"
"Please. It's not that simple. I cannot –"
"What? You didn't want them to know? Considering how afraid of Magi they are?" Nike balked, her wings bristling. "We do not know these people. They greet us with weapons, treat us like enemies, and yet we've been working to protect them. We are strangers sacrificing our lives." Closer to his height than Weiss was she stepped closer, staring into the man's twinkling eyes. "Whatever your excuse is, it is unacceptable. You've no reason to make these people suffer because you're… You're too afraid to reveal your magic!"
"My magic is not the issue. And the town was never in real danger, not with me here."
"Your magic is the issue!" Weiss, trembling, sucked in a sharp breath before gesturing to the huddled villagers. "You could have protected them at any time! But instead, you let them worry, let them die, more likely than not, and decided to dump a problem you could solve on a whim in our laps when we arrived. Why?"
No good reason could justify that. To not save someone you could readily do so was insolence. Selfishness. Ignorance. Worse still, it spoke of a cold, callous uncaring that made Charon just as bad, if not worse, than the very beasts that plagued humanity.
Maybe it was because some stranger had just tried to kill her. Again. Or perhaps it was the indignation at discovering Charon's power, at how little Zagori needed them, that left a sour taste in her mouth. But Weiss found herself looking through burning white coals at the dour man, half tempted to turn the remains of her magic on him.
Charon took a slow, deliberate breath, then held up his hands. "I am not allowed to use my magic. It is why I have not done so before now, and why I could not. But rest assured, Zagori was never in any true danger. I never would have allowed anyone to come to harm here."
Abacus, the gangly, grey-haired man who had so generously tried to skewer Weiss with a pitchfork, stepped forward. "Er, I don't r-right know what's going on anymore, but we haven't actually l-lost anyone, not since Charon moved in."
"They've been trying to eat us though!" wailed Frederic, running hands through his curly red hair. "Boil us, mash us, stick us in a stew!"
"Those are potatoes, you phagophobe!" Weiss stared, confused. Nike raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "What? I read books."
"No, I just, I mean I'm surprised that…" Unimportant. Weiss shook her head and turned back to Charon instead. "You cannot use your magic? Why? Clearly you had no issue in doing so just now. Is it some self-imposed limitation? Does it pain you to do so?"
"No, nothing quite so mundane."
"Then what?" asked Nike. "What's so bad about you using magic, huh? Does it make your piss turn blue?"
"I fail to see what would be so bad about that. Er, aside from discolored urine, I suppose." Charon smiled unevenly. "The gods forbade me from using my magic, and so I've refrained. Although I suppose I've broken that rule now, haven't I?"
"The gods?" Just to be certain Weiss cleaned out her ear, then tapped the side of her head. Charon nodded and she choked on a laugh, still assuming she had heard incorrectly. "The gods, beings almighty and powerful, decided to tell someone like you not to use magic."
"There is a rather sound reason for it, I assure you."
"Well then, we're all ears!" Nike made it clear 'we' included the villagers as she stepped back, holding her arms out. "Go on then, Charon. Tell us and these good people why you kept your power hidden. Why do the gods think so highly of you that they've singled you out like that."
Charon licked his lips as he shifted his weight foot to foot. Looked at the score of expectant faces now staring at him, chuckled weakly, and itched at one of his cheeks. "Er, I doubt any of you would believe me if I told you."
"Try us," Weiss said forcefully. "I think you'll find we're exceptionally open-minded."
"I don't doubt that, but this might offend even your amenable tendencies."
"Or," Nike interjected, raising a hand of crackling magic. "We kill you for putting our asses through hell for no good reason."
"Oh, I do doubt you can kill me."
"No one is killing anyone!" Weiss dragged Nike's hand down and swatted her arm. "No one is killing anyone," she reaffirmed, wagging a finger at Nike before sighing. "Just give us your reason. I'm sure it is sound."
Charon clicked his tongue. Rising on the balls of his feet, he swayed a bit, looking around and weighing his options, Weiss assumed. Or trying to concoct a lie. Though she couldn't fathom why, what reason might be so bad that Charon would feel the need to lie to them. Not after suggesting his crimes were so heinous that the gods themselves imposed restrictions on him. Nothing could be more outlandish than that.
Seeing no way to worm himself out of the interrogation, Charon sighed, ran a hand through his hair and nodded. "Fine. The reason I cannot use my magic is because the gods themselves forbid it. Because I have violated an innate tenant which governs the world, and one which, were I anyone else, I would have been killed for. But seeing as I cannot be killed, I was banished, forbidden to use my magic until they deemed fit."
"And that would be…?" Weiss pressed impatiently.
"Doing what I am now?" Charon motioned between them. "Interacting with you," he explained, gesturing to the hamlet. "Interacting with people. Walking among you, speaking to you, living with you. Spending time with you is explicitly forbidden except in times of great crises, and even then only to help stem the bleeding or turn the tides. Beyond instances such as those we, I, am forbidden from engaging with mortals."
"Engaging with mortals?" Weiss paused, frowning. "Suggesting then, you are something more?"
"Not suggesting. You wanted to know the reason; I've given it. Although I see nothing but the unvarnished truth will clear the air between us, so…" Charon exhaled, shook out his hands, then smiled awkwardly and offered a handshake. "Let us begin anew. It is my pleasure to meet you, Weiss, Nike. Villagers. My name is Charon. Or as you all more likely know me as… Kalom. God of Death, He Who Guides Souls to the Afterlife, Herald of Passing, Harbinger of the End. I never much cared for the last one. Always sounded so apocalyptic."
Weiss stared at the outstretched hand for a moment. Then at Charon. Then at a lone leaf that tumbled across the ground, doing what the final bits of her patience did and abandoning Zagori, dancing away into the forest. Grinding her molars, she flexed her hands at her sides, closed her eyes, and counted down from ten.
"Know what? I'm going to kill him again," Nike grumbled, sparking her magic to life.
"And again, I doubt that. I mean who would take me to the afterlife?" Charon chuckled wearily. "Me? I doubt that."
Nike's magic made Weiss' skin prickle, the woman sneering as she raised her hands. "If you're a god then I am a pink whale with butterfly wings. And I'm certain I am not."
"Well now you're just being obtuse."
"You are not a god, Charon," Weiss leveled her voice as annoyance made it tremble. "Stop lying to us. You were not forbidden from using magic because of the gods. You are not, I repeat, a god. You are an exceptional Magi who has decided to withhold his power for selfish reasons, masquerading as a nobody in this backwater hovel." She turned back to the villagers. "No offense."
"None taken!" Isabel said, a pale woman with a winning smile, who looked like a tree bending in the wind and about to snap. Her hands clenched her gown, knuckles white, eyes locking on Charon furiously. "A god? We all knew you were a strange sort, Charon, but you fancy yourself a god?"
"Magic does not make someone a god!" Frederic shouted. Weiss was proud the man had decided to say something beyond his hysterical fear of being devoured. "If magic makes you a god, then these two girls are too!"
Less proud. Now she wished he'd shut his damned mouth.
"Actually, funny story, that," Nike began.
"I am not a goddess, Nike. I am not, nor will I ever be, a deity," Weiss cut her off before that whole mess could start. Things had become chaotic enough. "Nor are you, Charon. And I am not nor have I ever been particularly devout –"
"Fair. Most of us are assholes, anyway." Charon shrugged.
"But I find myself somehow offended by your suggestion. A god?" Weiss laughed. "Indeed. You are a man with more power than most, but not that. And the fact that you withheld that power, letting these people live in fear, for some… Delusions of grandeur, that the gods themselves thought you so consequential as to forbid you from practicing, is both infuriating and pitiful. I don't even know that I'm tempted to assault you for the audacity of your claims."
"Still considering it," Nike said, letting her magic dance along her forearm. "Real tempting, if I'm honest."
"Neither of us will harm you. But I think it best that you leave Zagori behind."
Charon's eyes widened slightly. "What? But why?"
"They feared us because we are Magi. Not even exceptionally powerful ones, but Magi nonetheless." Weiss did not need to look back to know the expressions the villagers wore. Going by Charon's pained expression they were about as she expected. "If you have any kernel of honesty in you, you'll leave these people be. Your magic will only bring them harm."
"I won't bring Grimm to them. And any that do wander by will be dealt with. No more secrets."
He knew? Of course he knew. Power like that bespoke a man of prominence. Charon would have been made privy to things at some point, so Weiss let that revelation, the singular thing the man had said in the last few minutes, roll over her as a breeze. "We will be leaving Zagori as well," she announced, turning to the villagers. "We are sorry for any trouble our time here has caused you. We'll excuse ourselves and leave before nightfall."
"Weiss, you two don't have to leave. I'll go," Charon offered. Almost pleaded, really, brow knitting together as he stepped towards her. "I'll find somewhere else, you two can rest. You have injuries to recover from."
"I've traveled wounded before. Not ideal, but I'll manage."
Nike, looking less convinced, finally dispelled her magic in favor of checking Weiss' gashed arm. "We can't travel in the cold with open wounds, Weiss. We should recover before we go. Or at least get bandages."
"We'll help you!" Abacus offered. His wife, Lisanna, nodded emphatically at his side. "We don't have much, but you two did technically fight to help us. And… Maybe we do feel a little bad about almost attacking you."
A tempting offer, and one which Weiss should accept, though she tasted the suggestion and grimaced at the flavor it left behind. "We're the reason that person came here, why the Grimm showed up. You shouldn't be thanking us for anything."
"Those Grimm would have come for us sooner or later," Frederic said. Smiling anxiously, he wrung his hands as he stepped forward. "They'll not bother us for a while now, not if we keep our spirits up. And… And they'll probably go after you lot instead!"
Nike snorted. "Boy, how thoughtful…"
"Please. Allow me to at least heal your wounds then. It's the very least I can do to make amends." Charon reached out to touch Weiss' arm. She stepped back and covered the injury. "Please, Weiss. I owe you so much, allow me at least this singular kindness."
Still an offer she wanted to turn down. Owing a favor to Charon felt disgusting. A man who couldn't be trusted to be honest, who made such outlandish claims, was a charlatan, a fraud, and not someone Weiss was keen to align herself with. At least Roman for all his strutting and proclamations had never called himself a god. He was bombastic, yes, but at least he knew what he was. Just a man.
A sad, pitiful man who looked at her now like a dog that had been kicked, still keen on sitting with its master.
Sighing, Weiss quashed the reluctance within herself and nodded. "Fine. We'll accept the healing, and whatever supplies you can spare." Frowning, she looked up at Charon, turned to fully face him. "But that is it. When we are through here, Nike and I will continue our journey."
"Understood. If you'd like, I can offer you –"
"Alone," Weiss added. "Just her and I. I do not need a jester playing at a god to climb a mountain. No matter how much strength he might possess."
Charon's face crumpled, and Weiss almost thought she saw tears well in the man's eyes. "Weiss, please, that's not why I'm offering. Allow me to guide you two there."
Nike interrupted with a scoff. "I know the way, old man. We don't need your guidance."
"I…" Charon swallowed audibly and nodded quickly. Repeatedly, rubbing his face before smiling tightly. "Understood. I'll heal you, then you can be on your way."
"Lovely. Just what we need." Weiss tried not to make her smile too patronizing, but frankly she didn't care. Tired, injured, and more than a little irritable.
"If you two would please come to my home, I can take care of you there." Charon stepped back and offered a hand, then ran it through his hair with a breathy chuckle as it went untaken. "Er, I can perform the spells here if you'd prefer, too. It makes little difference."
"Your home is fine. We have things to collect anyways."
"Of course. Lead the way, then."
/+/+/+/+/+/
"You've some bread, some hard tack, and two water skins. Some fruit, which should keep in the cold, and a few strips of meat." Charon licked his lips anxiously before handing the leather bag to Nike. "Some bandages, a few salves I mixed together, and some spare gloves. Are you certain you don't need anything else?"
"Depends," Nike drawled as she slung the bag over her shoulder, adjusting its weight as it rested on her injured wing. "Can you teleport us to Agria?"
"The top of Mount Illyria?" Charon's waxing complexion turned paler. "Surely there's somewhere closer you can go? Safer?"
"We need nothing more from you then," Weiss said. She would offer to take the bag if she thought Nike would allow it. Had tried to, but her friend waved her off with a look of determination, one which turned now to discomfort as weight settled on still tender feathers.
Dusk had fallen over Mistral, the sun having long since disappeared behind the mountains. Only the vestiges of light remained, painting the sky above a dark purplish glow, the forest at their backs cast in an impenetrable shadow. Not ideal for traveling, not in the slightest. But Weiss would rather be rid of the would-be god and his fantastical claims sooner rather than later. And since she and Nike seemed to be of one mind on the matter nothing stopped them.
Nothing but the anxious, pallid elf still insisting on keeping them company.
Company which Weiss had no interest in keeping. All the small favors, the little bits of supplies provided, did not alleviate her misgivings with Charon. His fantastical claims, inaction, and peculiar fondness for her made everything about staying just feel wrong. Off.
Cold air rolled down the mountain from above and turned to mist above the trees, leaking onto the forest floor. Tumbling tendrils of fog obscured already poorly lines of sight and, as Nike ignited an oil-soaked torch and held it aloft, the forest remained near impossible to perceive. All they needed to do was stick to the path which, according to villagers, should remain marked by stakes, signs, and clear cuts through the growth. Assuming anyone had maintained them in recent years, which Weiss doubted.
"Weiss, wait."
She knew she shouldn't. Knew that whatever nonsense was about to come her way would only aggravate her headache that had begun to form. "Yes, Charon?"
"Please, let me accompany you. I can help. I'll…" Charon swallowed audibly, smoothing his wrinkled tunic with trembling hands and, failing to tidy that, took to running a hand through his hair instead. "I'll collect firewood. Stand guard every night so you two may rest. Cook. Fight Grimm so you two can conserve energy. I'll do whatever you need."
"I thought you weren't supposed to use your magic?" Nike asked.
"Fuck the gods. They're busy anyways, they aren't watching."
Again Weiss, not exactly a devout herself, thought that was a bit of a bold assumption even for her. It only seemed fitting the gods were watching because how else could her shitty luck be explained? Clearly, the gods loathed her birth, her heritage as a halfling, just as much as the men and women who had spent her lifetime scorning her.
"Charon…" Flexing her hands, Weiss took a few cautious steps towards him, looking up in puzzlement. Staring into that desperate, pleading face she blew air through her lips before asking, "Why are you so desperate to help us? We're alive. We have places to be. You owe us nothing."
"I… I…" A minstrel who had forgotten the words to his tune, Charon repeated the word over and over, eyes searching desperately for something. Not finding it, he exhaled unsteadily, shoulders somehow dropping even more than before. "You're not alone. I can tell."
Blinking, Weiss tilted her head, looking back to Nike. "Well yes, obviously."
"No, I mean in here." Weiss stepped back as Charon reached for her head. "There's another presence in there, one which doesn't belong. Foul magics were used on you." He sought Nike with an equally desperate smile. "Your mind has been tampered with, whether you realize or not. Neither are you are right, and I can help fix that."
"My mind? What are you –"
Her heart began to hammer in her chest as she stumbled back. There was no way Charon could know that. Know either of those things. Weiss hadn't had an episode from Salem recently so there was nothing to give it away, and Nike had been the same since they had arrived. Nothing to give away either of their ailments, yet he had guessed them both. Or not guessed, but shown with certainty he knew.
He shouldn't know. Charon couldn't know about those magics unless he had been shown them before. Worse, he had taken part in them. "I have no idea what you're talking about," Weiss whispered hoarsely. Then, lowering her head and drawing up her cloak's hood, she began to trudge back towards Nike.
"Weiss, please don't go! I can help you fix this. I'll search for a solution; I'll provide whatever magic I can." She didn't turn back. Did not respond or acknowledge his pleas. "Nike, listen to me. Someone has damaged you, but I can help. We can figure this out, but I need to, I want you and Weiss to stay. Or let me come with you."
When Weiss stormed right past her Nike did not linger. Unfurling one wing she blocked the smaller woman from view, torch held aloft. Like Weiss, she didn't respond. Neither did as Charon's breathing grew louder, a broken, choked sob echoing in the still forest.
"Please, don't go. I'm sorry, Weiss. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll help you; I'll help any way I can. I can make this right, I swear."
Weiss heard the labored breathing grow nearer. Not rapidly enough that Charon was running, but enough that she knew he was following them. His choked whimpering sounded more like a child howling for their mother than anything. Wholly unbecoming of a man who wielded such unearthly magic.
She clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, refusing to turn back as he called her name again. And again.
"Weiss! Don't go!" Charon rasped, disappearing as their meager torchlight left him in the dark. And while they could no longer see him Weiss could still hear his voice. Picture that slender, shadowed face wracked by an inexplicable grief.
"I'll help you. I'll fix her, I'll make things right!"
She did not understand it. Could not understand it. Nor did she have the luxury of time to try to sympathize with the delusional man's pleas. No, she had another would-be god to answer to in order to save her friends. She hadn't time for emotionally charged madmen's cries for her.
And as the forest enveloped them in its suffocating din, cold air swirling at their legs in pale wisps, Weiss caught the final few words of a man gone mad on the wind.
"Weiss…" The forest whispered to her on behalf of Charon. Faint. Echoing. Desperate.
"I love you."
Well, there's a chapter that's been on the burner for... A while. A long, long while. And still a touch more stuff that's been begging to come out for ages now.
Not yet though. There's an order to things. A little more to be shared, some more traveling for Weiss to do. Soon though. Very, very soon!
Be safe, be well, and see you all next chapter!