Oldtown

"Oy Alleras, what do you think of this one? Reckon it's real?" Armen asks, standing over a round wood and metal shield half-buried in Oldtown's sandy beach. "Looks finely crafted."

Alleras walks up to the thing and rolls up his sleeves before pulling it out of the sand, causing a bit of splashing. He turns it round, seeing the black paint and the golden kraken emblazoned upon it. There's some strange runic glyphs around the image as well, some of which he recognises to be Valyrian while others are harder to discern. "You might be right," he says, scratching the kraken and looking at its yellow flecks. "Might be gold leaf as well."

"Shit," Armen grins. "How much it's worth, do you think?"

"I don't know anything about shields."

"And here I thought you're the one with the iron link, Sphinx."

"Hey, the link taught me about the generalities of war, not the cost of specific shields," Alleras confesses, strapping the leather hold to his arm. It feels much heavier than it looks due to being waterlogged, or maybe he was just too young to remember the time he played with his dad's shield. "Might be a few groats worth, or a star with all this gold leaf intact."

He hears Armen whistles in admiration. "Well, you can keep that one then. As a gift, of course."

"Oh how kind of you," he chuckles. "And here I thought you're just being greedy."

"I am, but I found something even better than a shield. This!" Armen lifts a fearsome black steel battle-axe from the sand, hefting it in his hands. The blade is wider than his head, sharpened to such a polish that the glimmer of the morning sun causes Alleras to shield his eyes. An image of a kraken devouring ships is engraved on the head with similar writings carved into the wood handle. It's half as tall as Armen is. "This is going to fetch me a pretty pair of crowns, I tell you."

Alleras can't help but frown. "How in the Seven hells did that wash ashore? Ever heard of an axe floating?"

"Who cares? I got an axe," Armen says, swinging the thing about as if he has any semblance of martial skills. Not that Alleras has any, but at least he's good with a bow.

"And why krakens? They're the Greyjoy symbol, so the Ironborns must be going South."

"If by that you mean underwater, then they're going South alright. Must have crashed somewhere near the Honeywine and now they'll spend their time with their Drowned God and mermaids deep under. And good riddance," he chuckles, flipping the axe in the air only for it to slip from his grasp and land in the sand. Armen pretends nothing happened. "Of course, if they managed to get here they'll rape and pillage all they want."

"Maybe they're looking for a maester."

"As is you've ever heard of a Greyjoy looking for maesters. About as rare as seeing an actual kraken. Nah, they might gobble you up though, mistaking you for a lady and take you as their salt wife. Hah!"

"Oh, you think I look like some blushing maiden?"

"Well, you know," Armen gestures vaguely at Alleras' face.

"No need to blush, maiden boy."

"Am not you damn Sphinx!" he blurts out, turning away from him to hide his reddening cheeks.

Alleras laughs; it's always fun teasing Armen like this. He might be Alleras' senior by a few years, but the acolyte never ceases to amuse him. It's a charm of his, one that Alleras has taken quite a liking to. He only hopes that Armen will realise a bit more of their feelings towards each other, but then again not everyone is raised Dornish.

Of course, that doesn't mean Armen doesn't reciprocate him. More than once they've gotten brief moments of intimacy, whether that be in drunken merry or just playful japes. Simple japes. Nevertheless, he still have time until the chains of the Citadel will collar his neck, and with Armen that'll be even longer. Not that I'll say it to his face.

The Autumn wind sweeps in from the Sunset Sea, enveloping the Honeywine with cool winds and crashing waves, though none of it is enough to dissuade the smallfolk from playing in the waters. And with the sun barely risen, it's a good time as any to enjoy its warmth before the coming of Winter.

As the two walk side-by-side, they see their friend Mollander poke out from behind a rocky formation. "Oy! You might wanna see this!" he shouts.

"What? Caught a kraken, have you?"

"Maybe, dunno. Help us, though."

Curious, the two clamber over the crag and sees a large black thing being dragged out of the water by Mollander and Roone. Something trails behind it in the water, squirming around like tentacles. "Seven hells, you did caught a kraken."

"It ain't a kraken, it's cloth," says Roone, panting from all the effort. "C'mon, help us!"

Working together, the four of them manage to pull it onto dry land. It's some sort of a large sail with its rigging still attached. But once they splay it out for all to see, they all freeze in awe.

It's a sail alright, but large enough to drape the main gate of the Citadel black and with much more to spare. Apart from the scant few crabs and shrimps making their home on it, it's undamaged. And the image emblazoned upon it, a kraken of golden threads with eyes of rubies, is as large as the real thing. None of it sits right with Alleras for it looks almost alive, staring back at him with its hateful eyes. Writhing. Waiting. The halls of the Drowned God…

"Holy hells…" Mollander mutters as he steps onto the sail, looking over it all. "This thing's fucking massive!"

"Could swallow up ma's house with this," says Roone as he joins Mollander in trying to pry the rubies off the kraken. "The gem won't budge. Ey Armen, lend us the axe."

"Get your own one."

"Prick," Roone spits. "Ain't sharing with you the rubies then."

"I guess that explains why we've been finding krakens all around. And that sail," he looks over it, "must have been a mighty warship at that. Only two that I know of with Greyjoy allegiance on the top of my head: Iron Victory or the Great Kraken. Both of them longships, but massive ones."

"You know your ships."

"The iron link isn't just for fancy, Armen. You should get one as well."

"Remind me after I get my silver link, then."

"Damn those squids," Mollander spits at the kraken's face. "Gramps got cut up by one of 'em during the squid's rebellion. One less kraken in the sea, at least."

"Ain't that right," Roone says.

But why did this captain crash this one? Alleras ponders. This is a large warship, meaning that a skilled captain would be leading it. And if Ironborns are known for anything, it would be their supremacy at riding and taming the sea for their ships. If forced to choose between their castle or ship, they would choose ship.

And it crashed. A warship. Crashed.

There's pieces of wood all around the beach so Alleras is sure that there had been a wreck. But where? No news in Oldtown, and with the Hightower lit at night a wreck in the dark would still be visible to their watchmen. Yet it's only now people are talking of it. Did it not crash nearby, but drifted in from elsewhere?

"That's strange," Armen says, crouching down to the sail.

"What is?"

"Same writings as on the shield. And on the axe handle as well."

Right, he has a tin link. "Can you read them?"

"I'm still not used to Valyrian glyphs so give me a moment." Armen studies the chalk writings on the sail, untouched by the sea. Upon closer inspection, every part of the sail is absolutely covered with these small glyphs and runes. "I see one here saying 'saltwater', which makes sense. Ah, I can recognise 'valar dohaeris' anywhere. Something here as well about bounding and chaining…"

"What of the runic ones?"

"I don't even recognise them, so no bother in trying to… Actually, you're planning to bring that shield with you, right?"

"May or may not store it somewhere safe. Why do you ask?"

"I'm quite close to Archmaester Guyne, the one with tin links around his neck. He's always so interested in strange and esoteric languages, reciting poems from Yi-Ti and collecting books full of the unknown, so I'm sure he's the one that may recognise this," Armen taps the shield. "He's free at noon."

"Eh, I have to attend Perestan's lecture on Jaehaerys so I'll miss it. Haven't eaten breakfast yet as well," Alleras adds, rubbing his growling stomach. "How about near sundown? Is he free then?"

"Actually, yes, if I remember his schedule correctly. So how about it? We see what this dead Greyjoy have to offer, and maybe I'll treat you for supper."

"You mean me," Alleras smirks. "The last I remember, you could barely afford the good cider."

"Alright you two, break it," Mollander groans. "Any of yous helping us drag the sail?"

"I've got coins," Alleras answers.

"I have an axe," says Armen, brandishing the thing and slinging it on his shoulder. "We have what we need. You guys can keep the sail."

"And rubies."

"Yes Roone, and rubies. Come Alleras, might as well not be late for breakfast."

They leave the two boys who are now folding up the sail for easier transport. The coast is full of wooden pieces from the supposed wreck, with even more shields stuck in the sand and in between rocks. People have gathered now, hoping to score a find for themselves. And if Alleras' eyes have not failed him, then he spots a Hightower among them lifting a sword from the water. Which son or Ser he does not know. A damn big ship have wrecked here.

For the past two weeks, Oldtown has been in quite the ruckus. There's the fact that no ravens reside in the rookeries anymore, something that most in the Citadel is certain to be a sabotage. Riders calling for resupplies have to be turned down, making it a very tense moment for all involved. The need for communication between those in both the Westerland and the Riverlands certainly does not make the situation any better.

Alleras has seen a few ravens and crows about, and there have been many who attempted to capture them yet to no avail. And those that did… He tries to get that image out of his head, the time he saw a man with his guts-

Sometimes, he'd see a bird behind the slats of his windows in the middle of the night. On days like that, he can't find himself in the comfort of sleep. They're all being watched.

"You heard of the Seneschal?"

Alleras snaps out of his thoughts, glad that Armen is there to distract him. "The man's still missing, isn't he?"

"Not anymore."

"Really!?" he asks in surprise.

"Well, not technically, no. He's still not in the Citadel, but a servant there found a ransom beneath a few books. Apparently a kidnapping, and now the Seneschal is somewhere up North near the Honeywine. The Old Man sent Ser Garth Hightower to take care of that little problem."

"Heh, I pity those fools."

"Do you?"

"Of course not," Alleras scoffs. "Him going missing created a big disruption on my scheduled lectures. Could have gotten the copper link a month earlier if it wasn't for that," he huffs. But at least there's some silver lining to all of this. "Do you think he's… Dead?"

"Don't know," says Armen, walking close to Alleras as the two go down Oldtown's main market street. He eyes a few pawn and blacksmith shops, all of which are still closed this early in the day, before returning to their conversation. "They'll have to elect a new Seneschal if that does happen. Most likely Perestan."

"Gods be damned if it is Perestan," Alleras seethes to Armen's laughter. "That'll delay my copper links even longer. Maybe the Mage is better."

"Ah yes, even he had been a Seneschal once before. Do you plan to study under him?"

"Could be interesting, though I hear the man has been as reclusive as ever. You know, with the…"

"Yes, that."

A forbidden topic, one that the two are reluctant to speak of within the walls of the Citadel; the Spider has ears everywhere. It's not a well-kept secret that the Citadel owns several glass candles in its vaults, used in the ritual most acolytes refer to as the glass trial. Trying to light them aflame always ends in failure, teaching them to be humble and that with all its books and inks the Citadel is still in the dark about most of the world.

But then there are whispers among those foolish enough to speak it. He once overheard talks of the candle lighting up during an acolyte's ritual, while others said that the candles are being kept in Marwyn's quarters. All guards and maesters are silent on the subject, oft mentioning their lack of knowledge and feigning ignorance. But whether it's true or not Alleras can be sure of one thing: the Citadel is not taking any new maester's vows. And that is something.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Have you seen the candles?" asks Armen, a sly smile crossing his face.

"No."

"Want to-"

"I'd rather keep my head, Armen."

They're soon greeted by the pair of sphinxes sitting at the front of the Citadel's main gate, their onyx eyes staring back at them. Two guards step forth from their nooks, spears in hand and eyeing the two with apprehension. "Why the weapons?" asks one of the guards, Willem if Alleras remembers correctly. He's the replacement for the missing Head Guard. "Are you planning on raiding the Citadel?"

"What kind of raiders would step through the front door?" Alleras chuckles. "No, we found this at the beach. Some Greyjoy ship must have crashed near the Honeywine, and this might be worth some coins."

"And we have links," Armen adds, raising his necklace.

"Alright then. We can't be too careful nowadays," says Willem as the two guards give way. "Store them somewhere safe; there's some rats flitting about these walls."

The two acolytes part, both of them heading to their quarters at separate ends of the Citadel. Alleras' place is located atop an inn on a stony bridge, one of the larger rooms paid for by his father. Though much of it is lightly furnished, he does have a few trinkets here and there: his goldenheart bow and quiver with arrows, a shelf with books he borrowed from the main collections, a few oddly-shaped shells he picked from the beach, and a small dagger Armen gifted to him for his name day.

With the shield, he tries to hang it above the foot of his bed. Though it's a good placement, he does not like the way the kraken looks at him. So instead, he slides the shield beneath his bed and cover it with a spare blanket. With that done, Alleras grabs a couple of sheets of paper and leaves for the mess hall.

It's as rowdy as ever here, novices and acolytes moving about with their bowls full of soup and bread. Alleras takes his meal and sits himself at his usual table, noticing that none of the familiar faces are with him. Mollander and Roone must still be dragging that thing into town. Armen must be playing around with that axe, and Pate is with Walgrave. That leaves me with-

"Well hello there, Sphinx."

Leo… Alleras groans, trying his best to ignore that Tyrell boy. Ever since the Seneschal's disappearance, the novice is adamant in getting something out of all of them. The last time they talked, he was begging Alleras for coins since he lost it all playing cyvasse in the Checkered Hazard. "Where's my money, Leo? You've still not paid back my crown."

"Oh, it's an investment, dear Sphinx."

"You mean you put it on bets."

"Hah, you know me quite well. Tell me, how's your Dornish advances on our dear friend Ar-"

Alleras points his knife at the Tyrell's sharp smile. "Speak of that again and I'll make you a eunuch. Might as well if you're planning to become a maester."

"Heh, quite hot blooded today, aren't you?" He pushes down the knife with his fork before returning to his bread. "Let me ask you a different question then; what have you heard regarding the glass candles?"

Now this time every table around them fall silent, all eyes watching them talk. "…You're really just looking for trouble?" Alleras whispers, glaring hard at him.

"Well, I am a student of the most coveted and forbidden Archmaester of the Citadel, and I must find out what others think about them," Leo chuckles, not at all careful of being overheard. "So, what do you think of those rumours? Do you feel that they're grounded? Delusional?"

"More water?" asks a servant girl.

"Thank you love," Alleras replies. Looking at her face is a nice break from listening to Leo, though he doesn't recognise the blonde girl at all. Must be some new hire. "If you don't mind, I shall be leaving now. Can you take the my bowl and cup as well?"

"Of course!"

A new hire. Older ones would just tell me to pick up for myself. With the girl taking his finished breakfast, Alleras picks up his papers and heads to the door out. But before he can exit, Leo shouts at him: "It's a dangerous world, Sphinx! A flock of sheep won't protect you from what's coming!"

"I'll protect my damn self!" he shouts back, exiting the mess hall and walking towards Archmaester Perestan's lecture area. The air is fresh here, especially with fruiting trees all around the Citadel. Even with all the tragedies the place still intends to be quite festive, celebrating harvest season with some mummer performance within Citadel grounds.

Alleras passes by one such performance, some troupe that called themselves the Purple Umbrella, not that the audience nor him knows what an umbrella is. Even some of the mummers he talked to didn't give much of a good explanation. They've some standard plays and japes with dancing pigs and mediocre acrobatics, but that's not what people came to them for.

No, they come for the magic.

Alleras watches as the main performer walks onto a stage: a girl with dyed blue hair and mismatched eyes. She carries with her a stick with some cloth and fake tongue and eye attached to it. Her first trick is quite good, juggling skulls on her instrument and gradually increasing it from one to six, but Alleras has seen better. Then comes the main part of the show.

Spears of rainbow lights appear from her implement and flies up into the sky, bursting above the cheering audience. Even Alleras can't help but simply watch the colourful spectacle. He had seen pyromancer on the ports of Oldtown before, and none of them came close to whatever this girl is doing. And even with those people he suspects them of burning some strange minerals for the colours. But this one? He can't feel any heat from it, and instead feel a light sprinkle of water dribbling his skin whenever the lights burst above. Some said my father practised sorcery, but I've never seen anything from him. I must ask for that girl's name, and maybe recommend her at least to travel to Sunspear. That'll be a nice gift for him.

By the end of the show, a rainbow appears at the courtyard of the Citadel. The mummers bow, the audience cheer, and they all leave until the next showing. That's when Alleras realises he's going to be late and he sprints to his lecture room. Luckily for him, Archmaester Perestan is late from watching the mummers as well, though nothing on his face shows a sign of happiness.

The lecture begins and ends quite simply, detailing the reign of Jaehaerys II Targaryen and the involvements of Septon Barth's documentations. Most of it is something Alleras is already aware of, mostly due to his studious reading. If all his lessons are going to be like this, then I shall have the copper link in no time at all, he reckons, the though bringing a smile to his face. Not much longer until I have all the links needed for becoming a maester, and by then all this trouble would be over and finished.

Ah, to return to Dorne as a maester. My father and sisters would be so proud.

Perestan's lecture ends not long after noon. Alleras asks a managerial maester about Archmaester Guyne's whereabouts, and like Armen they say that the man is busy with a lecture on the language of Yi-Ti. What use is that? Alleras does not know; he'd never seen a Yi-Tish individual come ashore in Oldtown before, not even back in Dorne.

Not wanting to waste his time in the Citadel, he instead heads back to his room and takes the shield with him to determine its price. He has no more lectures to attend today, at least not the ones he's focused on. An acolyte can take any lecture at any time as long as they can prove themselves in the tests for the links. Alleras has no problems with that.

It's not too sunny today with a few clouds, and Autumn brings comforting winds with none of the Winter chills. A faint smell of apples and citrus is in the air, a long-held tradition of the Hightowers to plant fruit trees along the main roads and streets. Makes the city livelier AND helps to feed the smallfolk, a great solution overall.

Alleras has a certain smithy in mind, the one that forged his iron and gold link. Tykker is his name, a man generous with his discounts and pricing on weapons, even at times willing to help him restring his bow at a lowered price. It's a bit ways away from the Citadel, but he does not mind the leisurely stroll, though people do give him quite the occasional glare.

He passes by the Starry Sept and sees it much livelier than before, no doubt still arguing about the Great Sept of Baelor's announcements of a divine messenger. Alleras cares not for it; his faith is not as strong as most. Besides, he wonders if those messengers could just be sorcerers in disguise, though he doubts the Faith at the Great Sept is that inept.

Crossing a stone bridge over the Honeywine, he sees something large and black in the water. Actually, it's the sail from before, the red-eyed kraken staring back at him with its ropes trailing behind it. That's odd, Roone didn't pry off the rubies from its eyes, Alleras thinks, watching it drift away towards the Sunset Sea. Must have been too much for them to carry. Figures; a group of sailors are needed for a dry one, let alone something that large soaked in seawater.

As he nears Tykker's smithy, he sees a crowd gathering at its doors. They don't look at all happy, causing Alleras to be worried. "What's going on?" he asks. "Have there been an accident?"

"Maybe," says an old woman. "Ol' Tykker drowned, that he did. Dead in his smithy."

"Drowned? Fell into his tub of water?"

"Dunno, I just got here."

…Damn, never expected him to actually pass so soon. And I was about to ask him for bow maintenance as well. "How about his kids, or the smithy? Any plans on that?"

"Like I said, lad, I just got here," the old woman huffs before walking off.

It's an odd feeling hearing about his death. The man was only his acquaintance, yet he knows quite alot about his family life; he'd always talk about them whenever he had the chance. And now he's gone. Alleras gives a silent prayer for the family's wellbeing before finding a different smithy to ask for pricing, this time much closer to the Citadel.

But the talk doesn't go smoothly. The greetings have been cordial enough, yet it soon devolves into a shouting match between Alleras and the blacksmith, arguing about the proper price. By the end of it, he storms out of the place, yelling back: "It has gold leaf, you idiot! Not fucking paint!"

Feeling pissed, he decides to find a place for a drink and snack. As he purchases some rye bread for luncheon, a group of City Watchmen run past him and towards the edge of a nearby canal. He watches whilst chewing his bread the men drag something out of the water with ropes. There's some shouts as well; someone drowned. Poor sod must have been drunk, Alleras chuckles. But when he sees the drowned body, his face goes pale.

It's Roone.

Dropping the bread, Alleras rushes over to them. "You know the boy?" asks one of the Watchmen.

"I-It's Roone."

"Who the hell's Roone?"

"A… A friend of mine, a novice at the Citadel."

"Explains the link," the Watchmen says, taking off the leather necklace with a single copper link attached. He hands it to Alleras, the metal still cold and wet from the Honeywine. Roone had planned to get a gold one next, fancying it to look neat around his neck. "Sorry for your loss, lad. If it's alright with ya, take the link back to the Citadel. We'll inform them of your friend's passing."

"Yes, yes that'll be quite alright." Alleras can't even look at Roone's face, all grey and contorted from the water, crawling with wharf roaches. "If it's possible, can you inform as well the-"

"Ser!" shouts a Watchmen from the canal. "Another body!"

This time, Alleras spares no time to look over the stony railing and into the canal. Staring back at him from underneath the greenish water is none other Mollander, his face gagging with lifeless brown eyes. The crabs have gotten-

He gags, nearly vomiting from the sight. Roone. And now Mollander. Both of them are dead, yet something nags at the back of his despairing mind: they were born and bred here in Oldtown. They know the tides and currents like the back of their hands, and both of them are much better swimmer than Alleras.

Something's not right.

After explaining to the City Watch about Mollander and retrieving his black iron link, Alleras decides to head back to the Citadel and inform Armen of what happened to them. He needs something to distract his mind from this, and a little bit of Armen will do just-

He hears a woman wailing by the side of the road, clutching a little girl no older than a toddler. The people gathering around her whisper: "lil' girl drowned."

Another body is dragged out of the canal, that of a middle-aged man with a fit body.

A baby is carried out of a house, with people speaking that they drowned in their crib.

…

Alleras sprints through the streets of Oldtown, pushing past mourners and drowned bodies alike. He grits his teeth, heart pounding and praying to the Seven that Armen is safe. By the Gods he's praying.

He reaches Armen's quarters, sweat making his clothes stick to his skin. Climbing up the building, he sees that everyone else have left for lectures or classes; the only door that's firmly closed is Armen's. He's inside. "Armen," he knocks loudly, "it's Alleras. Open up, we need to talk."

No answer.

He knocks again, harder this time. "It's about Roone and Mollander, Armen. They're… We need to talk. Open the door."

Nothing.

Alleras paces back and forth in front of the door, biting the nail of his thumb. He's just sleeping, he assures himself. That lazy ass likes to sleep in, sometimes needing me to drag him out of his blankets. That's all. He's probably waking up now, not wanting to let his dear Sphinx wait. Yes, that's it.

…

Water seeps from under the door.

The door has an inside latch. It's weak; the Citadel doesn't bother to improve the older buildings. Lucky for Alleras. He straps the shield over his shoulder and rams the door with it. The first hit sends a jolt of pain through his arm, but he's determined to get it open. By the second hit, the latch breaks and he falls through the open doorway.

Armen is there on the floor, hand twitching and water leaking out of his mouth. He's alive.

Barely.

"Shit shit SHIT! Armen, stay with me Armen!" Alleras calls out, feeling the pulse on his neck. He's still warm, but the water is making him colder. Leaning the head only pushes out the water in his mouth. What do I do what do I do what do I-

A lesson. Ebrose. Drowning rituals of the Drowned Priests of the Iron Islands. What did they do again?

Alleras places his mouth over Armen's and blows air into it; his lips taste of saltwater. Then he pumps on his chest. One. Two. Three. Come on. Come on! Water spurts out of the mouth, but he's still not breathing. He blows in air again, pumping harder. More water comes out, but Armen is still-

"Gods damn it! Please Armen!" Alleras cries out. Again he breathes air into him and again he pumps, but Armen stays still. He's too late. He's doing it wrong. He's failing. Tears stream down his face as he pumps down on Armen's chest, feeling the cold settling into his body.

Then Armen coughs.

He coughs and hacks and with the help of Alleras he vomits out water and wharf roaches. The colour is returning to his face. He's still alive. By the Gods Armen is still alive. He slumps against Alleras, breathing still wheezing but his eyes sees him. "Alleras…"

"I have to get you to a maester," says Alleras, lifting Armen up with his shoulder and supporting him as the two walk out of the room. The nearly-drowned acolyte coughs up more water, nearly falling over if not for Alleras' support. "The hell's happened to you!?" Alleras asks, voice mixed with both fear and relief. "There wasn't any water in your room, was there?"

"…Kraken," Armen whispers, another roach climbing through his hair.

"Shit." The stairs are much harder when you're supporting someone who can barely walk, though soon he can feel Armen's steps getting firmer. "Smeone ought be able to treat you, get your lungs dry and back in shape.

"Kraken."

"Yes, Mollander and Roone…" Is it best to talk to him now about this? "They… I'm not sure how else to say it but-"

"Kraken!" Alleras feels Armen jerk in his hold.

That's when he hears the creaking of floorboards from above them. Alleras turns around and sees something large looming at the top of the stairs. A dark shape, its head a writhing mass like worms. Then, in the glint of sunlight, he sees the shine of Armen's axe in one hand and the shield in the other.

Water pours down the stairs along with seaweed and strange soft critters. The thing wears metal boots, each step a heavy thump that causes even more water to spring forth. Alleras is frozen in fear as he hears hissing and bubbling come from the thing. It's not normal. It's not human.

It wants to kill us.

Alleras takes a tentative step back, and the thing raises its axe in response.

And so the two break into a run, with Armen still holding tightly to Alleras' arm. Out of the building and into the main area, he sees now the thing that chases after them: a monstrosity of metal and the sea, its face nothing more than a writhing black squid with a large cloak of golden scales. It billows as if lighter than silk, yet with every step the stone beneath its feet crack and burst with water.

"Guards! GUARDS!" he shouts, bringing to attention a group of them patrolling the area.

"What's the matter with you two?"

"Some-Someone is chasing us, axe and shield and armour! An Ironborn!"

At the name, the guards ready their spears and look ready for combat. "Did they actually come to shore? Where did you see them?"

"There!" Alleras points towards the running thing, its cloak shining bright in the afternoon sun. Armen is now fully awake, standing up on his own next to Alleras.

But the guards look at the two with confusion. "Where're you pointing, lad? No Ironborn there."

"What!? Are you blind!?"

"Can't see them," says Armen, still coughing but looking much more fit than before. "They can't see them."

"What do you mean?" Armen asks.

"You two better not be playing japes with us," one of the guard growls. "Days' been tough with security, and I'd rather not deal with something foolish like-"

Alleras and Armen manage to dodge the incoming swing of that thing's axe, but the same can't be said to two of the guards. As the axe cuts into them, it splits apart like water before forming again once out of their body; there's not a single dent on their armour. As if the thing they're dealing with is nothing more than a mirage. And for a moment, Alleras can see the thing smile.

"-pranks or whatever you have in mind," the guard continues, oblivious to the hateful thing in front of him. "Now tell me, why the hell you- Agh!" The two guards collapse onto the ground, coughing and hacking up seaweed and water. Wharf roaches crawl out of their mouths and noses as the two painfully drown on dry land. The other guards try their best to help them to no avail.

Then the thing turns to them.

Armen and Alleras are next.

"Come on!" Armen shouts, breaking Alleras from his trance. The two run again. Where? Where can they escape from that thing?

They can feel their sprint slowing down as they pass the empty mummer stage. All that running is eating away on Alleras' legs, and Armen is in no condition to run. Then the two feel themselves slip on the wet ground, slamming onto their back. Dazed, Alleras feels the water gushing out from the rock beneath him. It smells of the sea, cold and dead.

He can hear the crunching of that thing's footsteps coming closer, but he also sees the silhouette of a short person over them. Alleras realises that they're actually the blonde serving girl from before, lending a hand to the two. "Careful from slips," she says quite nonchalantly. "You could break your neck."

"That thing," Alleras huffs out, far too tired to actually get up.

"Thing? What th- OH SHIT!"

She can… She can see it? "Help."

"Oh shit, yeah just wait a- Fuck, I left it back there!" The girl stomps her foot down on the muddy ground, splashing it on Alleras face. "Sorry. You know what, there's only one thing to do: YUKARI!" she shouts for all the world to hear. "HELP US!"

For a moment Alleras feels like he's floating in the wind, darkness and eyes all around him. The next thing he knows, he slams onto a bed with Armen landing on top of him. Both groan in pain. "The hells was…"

They're not in the courtyard anymore. Instead, he's greeted by Leo's insufferable grin. "Hah, never expected you to be here," he chuckles, prodding the two with his boot. "Get up, we have some work to do."

Alleras sits up, carefully moving Armen off of him. They're inside some dilapidated building, one that he recognises to be the Southern Dome of the Citadel. The place is brightly lit with strange black… "Glass candles," he whispers. The flames glow brighter at their mention, shining in radiant red, blue, yellow, and white. Sitting next to them is none other than the large form of Marwyn the Mage, and above them…

Above them…

Above them…

"Don't look at it for too long," the girl from before covers his eyes. "Not good for the mind, ya know."

"What the fuck is happening?" Alleras whimpers out, clutching Armen's hand and covering his eyes.

"That's what we'd like to know as well," the girl sighs. "All kinds of fucked is happening. And you know what that is?"

"…What?"

"An incident."