How can I even go with such shallow and scant leads!? I gaze at the blade in all its cursed glory, the ruby encrusted upon the center whispering into me sweet nothings, a call upon action. But what can any of this mean? There is another lead to follow, besides this one. There are others that I prefer to accept and are way easier to swallow.
Should I go with the motion? Maybe there is something, it can't be true, right? But, why should you trust any of them? There must be something more, a truth to deny all others.
A glimpse shines through my eyes, a faint reflection, weak and upon laid, the smallish orders, some kind of insignia, one forgotten by everyone and left to rot away. The black onyx laced with unreadable inscriptions. Was it simply there for a long time?
I walk away from the desk towards the other side of the room to analyze such a foreign object. I pick the insignia up from the ground and spin it around. Dust accumulated throughout its smooth surface and created a deep layer of grime whereupon the distinction between what was the filth and what was the remains of a spider web was opaque as the stone itself.
Brushing it off, the inscription comes to me like a brick hitting me in the head: may you have found peace.
It isn't possible. Of course, it isn't, it couldn't be. How blunt can something be and how can an idiot not notice or forget about it? Whatever, no matter how hard it may be, I must find that wretched truth before it can catch up to me. I guard the blade and the insignia, keeping it upon me, and leave on my merry way to one of the possible suspects. As always a knock on the door, and from the darkness the suspect came out.
"Tharja." I surprise the dark mage, an imperative question in her eyes, while she rolled them at the same time, nothing new on that front.
"It has been only two days, why are you here?"
I sigh at her question."Well, there are some topics we need to talk about now."
"If so, enter already, don't waste our time."
I hide my cringe at the phrase and her layer of stoicism, trying to not crack. I don't know what the dark mage's opinion on things are anymore...
She whips out her chair, and the fetid smell coming out of the room starts to feel more nostalgic. Was she preparing something? Unsurprisingly, the room didn't change a single bit. The same old paper thrown around in big piles, the tomes on her shelf and table, and of course, the curtains which sucked light. I gaze around her place and read some of her stuff, but her annoyed voice stops me.
"Stop playing around." She points at the chair and her bed, waving her hands and making a sign to sit down as I closed on the book and returned to the reason I'm here in the first place.
"Why did you come here in the first place?" She stares at me, the same gaze as the first time, like when I was only a stranger to her. I recoil and move away a little bit from her.
"Well, for starters. How did your family become prominent in Plegia?" I ask.
"You should ask for a historian, Gabriel. They know more about this pointless stuff."
That is already a great start, already digging a grave.
"But, you are the only one from this clan that I know of that is here. You could enlighten me on something, right?" What a wrong question to ask. Before I know it, she is huffing at me like a bull on this target.
"Do I look like a historian to you? I don't care about such earthly matters, the dark arts are way above the squabbles of power-hungry men. Stop wasting my time, I have important matters to deal with."
"I don't care about much, but I didn't find any books about that conflict between your family and that other clan. Did it happen or is it a delusion on my part, another stupid part of me like always?"
She notices her mistakes, recoils at the last part of my speech, ignoring the question, "I have things to work on, please, can you leave?"
Goddamit, please just help me along!
"Well, you just need to tell me, yes or no?" I question, almost screaming at her. An awkward silence hangs in the air. She avoids looking into my eyes, hiding her expression with her bangs.
"So, what were these conflicts, Tharja? After all, the last one stopped a couple or six months ago, and rumors circulate as fast as lightning. So for the love of everything that is sacred and holy, what were these fights and why did the clans keep erasing it and acting like nothing happened as if it was always sunny in Plegia?"
"Gabriel, these matters are beyond your importance, and for the most part, it is healthier you don't approach this any further if you want to stay alive. And besides, why are you asking it anyways?"
I let out a sigh. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I almost died because of a guy's brother's revenge on me ten months ago. Sorry, but if any of this is related, then it is my interest."
She sweats but keeps on going forward with answering my pathetic little questions. "Essentially, our clan has been fighting with the other messianic to see who would curtail the most favors with the Fells.''
"That I already get, but why do you keep erasing it like it didn't happen in the first place?"
She falters and avoids direct eye contact, a whisper coming out of her, "Gabriel, this isn't your place to interfere. I already told you too much just from this single phrase. Now get out, both of us have something way more important to do than keep discussing this."
No, it can't end right here! Before Tharja can kick me out of the room or do a hex to make me with all the side effects included, I retort to the heart of the matter. "Before I get out of here, do you know if this dagger is somewhat familiar to you?"
I bring the dagger out of my robe and show it to her. Disbelief comes to her face. She starts to blink as if the dagger wasn't real in the first place, stopping any movement with her eyes wide open.
She gulps, sweat dripping further down her head. She starts looking around, trying not to break her facade of the unnatural poker face, and she returns to sitting and talks back to me.
"Why would you have the blade of the person who tried to kill you?"
Tension hovers in the air. The few seconds come to a stop, and avoiding the gaze of each other becomes the rule as two strangers fight back for precious information, only the sizzle of flames providing a back noise for both of us.
"Well, nobody stopped me from using it until now. I didn't even touch the darn thing until I was attacked by the guy. But nobody made a single move to take this thing from me. Do you know anything about this blade, Tharja?"
She becomes pale as the moon, and the facade becomes more cracked by the second, hesitation marking her mind as the question presses itself further and further.
"I did know, because of the monster who attacked you, but beyond that, I barely know anything about this dagger." Her voice doesn't crack, but her eyes gaze at the dagger with familiarity. This wasn't the very first time she saw it, but I don't press any further after that.
"Is there something more, Gabriel? If not, you should rest. Asking people things makes you even more stressed, knowing you."
Should I show the insignia? Maybe not now, but rather another day. I don't want to jeopardize the few somewhat stable relationships I have. If she knows something more about it, I can get it later.
But wait, are you so sure you can get the information before the day finally comes, and also there isn't that festival and how many—
"Gabriel, get out. Or did you get enough rest to test a new hex?" Her threatening tone clashes with her face, as she practically tries to strain her poker face back into place and not come off as threatening. The moment she says it, I immediately get out of her chair and go directly to the door, but before I get out...
"Sorry for asking, but what day is today?
"You seriously forgot what day it is?"
"I lost count a long time ago."
The poker face falters and frowns appear on her face. "It is 12 of ..."
"Thank you very much," and I leave her alone.
There is another one who may have a clue for what I'm after.
The desert leading up to the city remains the same, despite not a single visit for the past couple of months. Or weeks, I don't know anymore. Just the same routine and the same sand dunes, of course. I got the same horse from the same old reliable Mustafa.
But anyways, the city laid upon my eyes yet again, but instead of the typical adventure, more troops could be found upon its outermost layer. Six regiments lay around as the caravan tries to circumvent the troops while still trying to get as much money as possible, the smell of spice mixed with the salty sweat.
I arrive upon it later, the troops try to accommodate allowing people to enter beforehand, but still blocking the bulk of them for the most part, one of the officers making a sign with his hand that from here horses weren't allowed. Leaving the horse behind, I enter the walled city, looking for that one shop. The one whose owner makes me question for what practical reason he does his stuff. The city cramped corridors greet me with the same old marking on the wall, notwithstanding where the cauldron marking is.
I make my way into the city, the lack of visitors making me more uncomfortable and the design of the city baffling me even more. Like a hive, it extends its tendril upon its labyrinthian design while more guards come into the city, the folk all voicing their worry.
"Why are there soldiers everywhere?" one says.
"That is for the festival that will come next week," another answer.
"But the other years, there wasn't any of this, even when the monsters of Ylisse invaded us!" the first blabbers.
"There are rumors that the king will go to war with them," the second answers.
"But that would be stupid, why invade a commercial ally?"
"You are the stupid one, we should claim vengeance for what have they have done to us."
The discussion goes on while the soldiers keep marching on the city and musicians blare with their sounds. What a hellish day, the groaning of drunks sprawled into the streets and the scream of merchants saying the prices and products they offer.
It is the city of Grima alright, and it was back yet again, how the heck, they want to make a festival in this crowded place. But who am I to judge? I don't even belong here. But before I can make even more ramblings than a protagonist of a philosophical novel, the cauldron and ingredients drawings appear on the walls of the place.
The sun is still in the sky, still shining in its glory. The place is as dark as the last one, but less cluttered, most of the shelves completely empty, with only the most essential of items.
"Oh, Tharja's assistant. What may I assist with today?" The man says with a smile plastered on his face
"I'm going to be very direct with you, I'm not here looking for items, I'm looking for something else." He becomes more surprised by my eloquence
"So what something else could it be? This is only a store for ingredients, nothing more, nothing less."
"Do you know the conflicts between the Fatimid and other clans, and why you people keep erasing it like it doesn't exist anymore?" His smile falters and he crosses his arms.
"I could tell you, but there isn't anything a mere assistant can go in without risking their lives, you know, little one."
"What a shame for them, that either option leads to the same result. You are already out of your family, telling me won't change things, you know."
"Fine, but I don't want Tharja to babble on my ears, telling me that her lab rat has died and she doesn't have anyone else to test her things."
"Ok, just go on, tell me every single detail."
"Did you try to get the information out of Tharja, I presume?"
"Yes, why for any other reason, would I come here?"
"As I thought. But anyway, the reason we eliminate the information of inner wars is that we need to create an image for the world. One of unity. We may be related to the messianic sect, but fighting must be hidden, otherwise, we fall."
"Ok, so why would anyone be killed? That would only bring more attention, wouldn't it?"
"We can say that you just vanished. As of right now, you are treading on some dangerous waters. May I suggest not to go any further than here? The truth will not save you."
Playing hard, huh?
"Something else I want to ask." I pick up the dagger and show it to him. "Do you have any familiarity with this type of blade?" He becomes baffled and any sign of easiness disappear out from thin air, and a serious gaze pierces me
"How did you get this?"
"It isn't important. What is important is you telling me what it is and if it has any functions, I'm not dumb."
"A sacrificial blade, but not an ordinary one. Rather a very rare one. One that the likes of you shouldn't be holding right now."
Oh mysterious, Why so angry at me? "I didn't choose to use the blade or find it. Some events happened and I'm its owner now."
"Whatever the case may be, you are dealing with something you can't handle. You are just a man, a foreigner. You can't just use items such as this for your own, only a few can use it for its intended use."
"What a shame then. I'm now its user."
"Good luck then. You don't know how deep into this you are. Do you think the messianic will not stop to get what belongs to them?"
"Well, thanks for informing me. And one last word of warning: I wonder what the Vessel will think of my death.'
"Do you really think the Vessel cares for you? You are just a simple speck of many that see her in the court. What makes you think she even acknowledges our existence?"
"Well, sadly I can't show you proof, that's a shame"
"You are a fool, youngster. Saying the vessel acknowledges you….you know nothing."
"Well, what I can say? You seem a little bit obsessed with her, but I'm not here only for that."
"Then what else is it?" says the angry man.
"Well, Khalid," I show the insignia to the man. He becomes flabbergasted, and switches from angry to baffled.
"How are you even still alive at this point!? You even have a memoriam for you, how? The dead don't stay alive! What!?"
"I didn't expect to fry your brains, but I have the same question as you. But thanks for answering my questions, you are great at giving answers."
I get out and go to the exit
"I didn't give you any."
"But you did, thanks very much" And slam the door at the confused man, that just likes conspiracies. Why? Why, out of all people, it had to be me? What great luck, to be confirmed my death was supposed to happen, great.
At least, I have some answers and some other poor bastard is in my place, I deserve this. Reflet, the one thing I ask, please, for the love of everything that is holy, tell me you are unrelated to the reason. I went back and picked up the horse, the sun was still in the sky, but I already want to go out of this place. I need to set the record straight, I keep checking my corners and for everyone else, someone could be following at any moment. The city's still breathing and living, the soldier becoming just another part of the background, one more thing becoming a part of the routine, like eating and sleeping. Will it be the festival or the event that will shake up Plegia, an announcement of the war hiding inside as a spectacle?
The only thing sure is the war and nothing else, and I was supposed to be dead very long ago, and some agents wished for that to happen.
I leave the walled city towards the infinite palace, my heart, and mind towards one sole thing, a curse that may extend to myself and put by people I know, This struggle through the desert be the last moment of solitude before the ramble begins anew? Whatever the answer may be, my mind draws to the one song and its question, where in this desert roses bloom and grow?
A quiet reminder has remained in between the travels, and upon it lays a more fundamental question, after finding a small little glimpse of a bigger picture through the scants remains of erased history and conspiracy in which friend and foe are alike I can't let this simple discovery fall through the crack of hands and mind, the lethargy consuming through these months, had only led to things having worsened, unnecessary action, one of a true fool, who could have easily been more productive but instead keeps rambling on unnecessary things leading to my possible demise.
I wonder who is the big fool here, my past self enraptured into inglorious isolation delving into books and waxing unnecessary poetry and being the laborious lab rat of the lady who has preserved his life, and could be the death of me, I will discard the latter post, it would be too sudden, and me being just annoying.
The other part would be like that one protagonist, the pathetic "Ubermensch" risking his life for his utter selfishness while saying it is for the greater good, uncovering mysteries that bother no one. I wonder who is the old lady and what is my axe if that were the case?
The corridors being lit to begin the new cycle of night covering the court and its insidious plotting into everyday life. Most of us get to their own bedroom and not caring, while backroom stabbers do away with their nagging and plot under the unsuspecting gaze of the moon, free from any responsibility for the mess of their man.
The torches sizzle out and struggle against the wind, the effort of guards trying to maintain amidst the concealing and revealing nature of the flows of air, as the darkness and lightness try to combat each other's influence, intermingling with each other, laying upon a nocturnal silence of scholar and unresponsive gaze of guards, whose jobs lead into the month of everyday conversation and of some bastard deciding to walk upon the hallways into the ungodly hours preceding the tantamount of plotting and deal in which the night permeate.
My eyes blink at the soft wind as the sleepiness takes hold of me, and the comfort of just falling hard on the ground becomes irresistible. How much I wish to find a bed and find myself fit into it, a few stumble here and there while walking to typical hallways, some people still walking, maybe for their dinners or some other matter.
The plotters are still finding themselves doing their stuff before the true night can truly come. All in all, I couldn't care less about my sense of direction right now, it all becomes one jumbled mess where there isn't any difference between north and south, east and west, I just want to fall on the bed and end this damnable day.
I know it isn't the most sapient or even smart thing to be doing whatever I'm doing right now, tactics and tenacity are a must in almost every single hour of this damned palace and its inhabitants.
Thankfully, the people aren't as often looking at me as that other times, their gaze stares at something beyond. I may have finally cracked the code into becoming somewhat invisible, you just need a festival or ritual, or whatever you may think, and even the most infamous of man becomes invisible to the public eye to the spectacle lying beyond in the near future. What am I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, finding my room…
After some stumbles here and there, I have returned to the safehouse dungeon, and after doing the habitual act of locking upon the door in my return, I check all corner, the ferric smell still floating through the air stinking the place up while checking up for anything that could be serving as a clue for any action to be taken, shelves were removed and thoroughly checked. I look under my bed and under the mattress for anything remotely resembling an object.
I find nothing, not even the tiniest little bit of grain under my visage, after the laborious thorough check through the room, the only thing left for me to do is check for anything the journal may bring to the table. 27 de Março… 1 de Maio…. 38 de?... ? Nothing remains of the diaries, besides that one specific entry on the attempt on me, I rip it out from the text and put it inside my coat. After doing that, I go back to a blank page of the journals and make an entry to the clues as memories stimuli I presume
12 de novembro? ou alguma outra data? 2020 ou 2021?
There are only three clans worthy of checking as of right now: Fatimid, Abbasid, and Ummyad, as they are the only ones who follow the messianic sect and I doubt the falls would even recognize my existence since the attempt was way back before I could make any contact with me.
-The dagger holds symbolic importance, I already know it's ceremonial, sacrificial and the very fact that I'm holding it puts my life in danger. Whatever the conflict between the three clans may be and no matter what the Khalid guy says, there is just another reason for why they keep erasing history and that is not entering on the whole Tharja and the guy trying to keep me further away from the truth.
And leading onto the suspect, from the three clans, the Fatimid are the most probable to be related to the weird conspiracy somehow. Tharja's father, Ibrahim, is way too suspicious considering his surprise at my sight.
And about Tharja… She can't be related to this incident, right? Despite her cold nature, she is too much of a gentle person inside to do such a thing to me, right? I may be only her lab rat, but even she cares about me right? Please tell me, it's the truth.
And I finish the journal and entry and rip it apart and put it in my clothes just like the other entry. With this thing done, I could say the day is done, hunger strikes back. Did I even eat anything today? Let me check, talked with Tharja, then went to the city and then returned from it. I need to eat something, or should I go to bed? Eat or sleep?
Whatever, I bring something from the dining halls if there is anything and just there, I doubt someone will care for a missing plate tomorrow morning. So with that out of the way, I get out of the room towards the dining halls.
"Mister guard, did you see a man of about my height, black messy hair and with the very big dark circles on his hair and with his entrails still alive?" A familiar man asks a guard, while the man recoils at the last one in absolute disgust.
"The shorty from Tharja?"
A happy voice comes from the man "Yes, that one, thank you mister guard"
Oh no, how much does this have to keep repeating?
The white-haired dude comes away from the guard and towards me with an absolute brimming smile and blood stuck onto his face and hand, ignoring anyone's reaction to what they consider another Tuesday. The crow man is holding a book in his hand while looking around.
"Hey, Gabriel, how is life treating ya? It seems your insides have been resting from a fight from two days ago." Henry cheerfully chirps the sentence.
"Just the same,'' I reply monotely.
"Huh, like always then. Gabriel, Gabriel, you never change. Why are you staying in this loop of sameness, doesn't your life have any more wonder than being a rock?"
Any sense of sleepiness corrodes from my imagination as the man keeps staring at me, if like nothing happened in the first place.
"If you want you to call it that, that isn't my problem. Besides, why are you here?"
Henry then smiles and hands me a book. "You seem to have forgotten your tome back there And just like a body needs its intestines, a fellow dark mage needs a tome to survive."
I blink at him and pick the book from his hand. Henry not being a complete weirdo, what a refreshing change of pace.
"Well, Gabriel, there is something that I have to tell ya, Why did you and Tharja put the body in my room?"
"Huh?"
"No need to worry, I won't snitch or anything, but why dump the body in my room? Not that I'm complaining, just another subject to work with."
I gulp at the whitehead and try to remain any remaining confidence visible. "What are you talking about? I don't remember putting a body in your room."
The man drops the smile and becomes serious, his gaze like a hawk watching its prey. "It's not very nice of you to lie about stuff with friends."
I don't respond to the allegation, maintaining the awkward balance.
"Besides Gabriel, the winds of change are coming. Tomorrow, dad has a special training for all of us. I don't think it's a good idea to miss it. The festival is coming and the crows are getting more unnerved.
"Do you understand?" I nod at him and he returns to his joyful attitude."Very well then, see ya tomorrow with a bunch of randoms. And good luck, I don't think you will be able to hold your guts for much longer."
And he goes to the shadows, while I return to my room, flabbergasted and not trying to curse at this situation. The world seems to keep repeating itself.
So that was chapter XIII. Not the best chapter I ever wrote, very rough around the edges, since it was done back in March. I didn't decide to publish it immediately, because I wanted to create a backlog(Something that I failed miserably) and the end of March and beginning of April were really rough mentally.
I hope you had some fun from this somewhat lackluster chapter, and that grammar wasn't so bad as other chapters of this fic. I'm sorry for the bad quality of this chapter, and I hope the next one isn't as bad as this one. Special thanks to Cavik and Sushion for beta reading and correcting every single English grammar mistake they can find. Also thanks to everyone reading this so far, I appreciate your support immensely and for trudging to this little messy fic of mine.
But to not end this on a bitter note, this is the first anniversary of this fic! So happy birthday, Detachment! You are somehow making someone happy in the end!
I can be found on discord .gg/9XG3U7a
CrimsonHeresy: Thanks for the compliment about this story. Well, he was teleported out of nowhere, and that is all I have to say for now.
Soupreme: Well, I don't know how to answer this. Well, thanks for the compliment. I doubt the fic is that all you say it is, but I'm still happy nonetheless that somehow I was capable of leaving those emotions, my dear reader. Well, Gabriel will have his character development, just be patient, and both of them will develop him as a person.
But as to shipping, oh well. Hope you get what you want, because the competition is fierce.
n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶a̶ ̶s̶h̶i̶p̶p̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶w̶a̶r̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶f̶i̶c̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶a̶s̶ ̶w̶e̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶e̶