Oh man, I've been so psyched to give you this one.
In Achillean's experience, fog over the ocean always brought on an otherworldly feeling. But what kind of otherworldly it was, very much depended on where your head was at. If your mood was light and carefree it could feel like you were floating in the clouds, walking across a landscape in the sky. If your mood was darker or burdened, then the mist felt more like a blindfold, shrouding your surroundings and turning trees to silhouettes with reaching arms, and approaching strangers to dark blobs or smears of color.
Today was the latter. The lush cove had been turned monochrome by the mist, the surface of the water as flat and gray as iron. The sky was featureless, hanging close over the ground and blurring with the water until it seemed like there was no distinction between the two. It was as if the rest of the world didn't even exist, as though the cloud-choked cove were all the gods had ever made.
In Nestoria, morning fog wasn't uncommon. It would usually be gone by mid-morning, as the heat of the sun burned the mist away. But Achillean couldn't help but feel like this fog was some kind of an omen, a reaction by nature to the as-yet-uncertain futures of life or death that hinged on his companion's actions.
Achillean glanced over at Ingressus as the Voltaris refugee splashed water over his face, the rippling of water sounding unnaturally loud in the silence of the cove. Ingressus had never been the particularly open type in the handful of times Achillean had met him before, but Achillean had never wanted so much to know what he was thinking. Ingressus had been contemplating murder the previous day. Not the exaggerated, metaphorical kind of killing that was said but never meant literally when someone annoyed you, but the real kind; the blood-spilling, heartbeat-ceasing, blackened-markings kind. Achillean had been afraid that he would wake up in the morning to find Ingressus gone; that he would return to Ataraxia to find a town in turmoil, that Aegus would tell him that there had been a murder while Achillean was gone. But to his great relief, though their borrowed tent had been empty when they woke, Ingressus had merely been pacing the shore, the fog glowing in a flame-colored aura around him.
Achillean didn't know what he would do if Ingressus did decide to go after the Champion. He wasn't sure he would be physically capable of stopping him. Ingressus reminded him of the warriors in Nestoria: calmly confident, his movements deliberate and precise. He'd probably had combat training– meaning he could almost definitely kick Achillean's butt if he chose. Achillean hoped he wouldn't.
Achillean hadn't caught on to the reality of Ingressus's situation at first. He had assumed that Ingressus's presence in Ataraxia was due to the place being a melting pot of the Ardoni clans– that maybe the town was accepting even of the Voltaris. Maybe there just weren't many Voltaris there, and that was why he hadn't seen any others. Ingressus being leery of Aegus was understandable given the remaining tensions in the outside world, so Achillean would respect his wishes for secrecy. Over time, though, he had come to realize how… optimistic that was. The raids were still happening. There were no other Voltaris in Ataraxia– or anywhere else he had heard of, aside from the Barrier Mountains and the clan's occasional forays into the rest of Ardonia. He had slowly come to realize that Ingressus was still in hiding from the rest of the world. His plea for Achillean to keep him secret hadn't been due to lingering mistrust; it had been for fear for his life. Ingressus's account of the Champion's actions had only hammered the dark truth home even more.
Achillean cast his fishing line into the brightening waters, still lost in thought. He didn't know what to think. Anyone dying was not something he wanted to happen. In a fight or in self-defense would be one thing– not that he wanted that either– but killing Thalleous would be premeditated. He knew he would try to stop Ingressus if it came to that, but how could he talk him out of it? He had no place to decide what Thalleous did or didn't deserve; he wasn't a judge. It was all so much bigger than anything he had any frame of reference for. He didn't understand what Ingressus was going through– and he rather hoped he never would.
He was distracted by a bobbing lure. He made to reel it in but then realized– it wasn't his hook. He glanced over at Ingressus, who was staring blankly out over the water, apparently oblivious to his catch.
"Ingressus?"
Ingressus snapped to attention, his distant gaze suddenly alert. He glanced at Achillean, who nodded at the lure. "You've got a catch."
Ingressus followed his gaze, then wordlessly began reeling in the line. Achillean looked more closely, noting the shadows under his eyes.
"You don't look like you slept too well," he observed.
"I didn't," Ingressus admitted.
He reeled up a small fish, staring at it on the end of his line for a minute before unhooking it and tossing it in the bucket. Achillean noted that they could probably just do catch-and-release for the most part– they only needed enough to feed the two of them, not to distribute to a village.
"If you want to take a nap, go ahead," he said. "We've got nothing but free time."
"I'll be fine."
They fished a while longer, keeping a few fish but releasing most of what they caught. Ingressus began to zone out again after a while and Achillean let him. He figured there wasn't much point in disturbing him. That was, until Ingressus began to slump over. Achillean's arm shot out and he caught Ingressus by the shoulder. Ingressus jerked awake, his hand closing around Achillean's wrist before he returned to reality.
"All right, this isn't working," Achillean said. "Go take a nap, we've got all day for fishing."
Ingressus let go, his gaze dropping in silent apology. He glanced out over the cove. "Is this what you do all day in Nestoria? Just sit by the water, day in and day out?"
"Most of the day, yeah," Achillean said. "Not all day, though. I guess it isn't quite exciting enough to keep someone awake."
Ingressus shook his head. "I meant no offense."
"None taken," Achillean shrugged. "I like the peace and quiet, but it's not for everyone."
"It is nice," Ingressus said, though he looked troubled.
Achillean again worried about what Ingressus was planning to do. A scary image flashed in his mind of Ingressus wielding a red-tinged blade, stalking away from his victim with his gaze cold and remorseless no, don't think that—
Ingressus must've seen the look on his face. "I'm not going to kill him. It wouldn't make any difference; other Champions would just take his place. Though if our paths cross, I won't have a choice."
Achillean relaxed. "That's a relief. I'm not gonna lie."
"It wouldn't be hard for them to guess who did it, even if I don't confront him publicly," Ingressus went on. "And even if I don't die trying, I still lose everything for it."
"I'd imagine it wouldn't be hard," Achillean agreed. "You probably do have the most motive out of anyone."
"The only person it would do any good for is me," Ingressus said. "And even then, the cost is too great."
Achillean realized Ingressus was speaking to himself as much as to Achillean. He was trying to convince himself, trying to justify his choice of inaction to himself. He remembered the adults in his village reassuring Hyros in much the same way, always reminding him that he was only defending himself, that the bandit had attacked him, that it wasn't his fault.
It was strange to be reassuring someone that not committing murder was the way to go. But if it worked, Achillean wouldn't complain in the least.
The day wore on. The fog lifted somewhat, though the sky remained overcast. Ingressus went off to take a nap and Achillean continued to fish, casting his line into the water until the heavy clouds opened up and released their rain. It wasn't a blinding downpour but it was steady, and Achillean's hair was matted to his skull by the time he reached the shelter of the trees.
He was sitting under a birch tree, gazing out and watching the rain dimpling the stone-gray water, when Ingressus woke. His companion took a seat under a neighboring tree, taking in the view without a word. The two sat there for a while in silence, listening to the rain patter down until Achillean got hungry.
It wasn't until he had taken a step towards their firepit that he realized the firewood would be too wet to cook with. And yet, somehow, Ingressus had a strong, bright fire going within ten minutes.
"How did you do that?" Achillean asked, staring at the fire. There was barely even any smoke, that was not a sign of damp tinder.
Ingressus speared a fish on a stick and held it over the flames. "Magic."
Achillean squinted at him. Magic?
Songs were one thing. But even if there was some Song that could make damp wood burn, Achillean had seen no sign of the flickers of light that signified their use. There were other kinds of magic in the world, but could Ingressus– no older that he was– really use them?
"I can't decide if you're joking," he said.
In answer, Ingressus held a stick that was dark and wet to the flames. As expected, the wood didn't catch. But Ingressus lifted the stick again, speaking words that seemed to echo faintly among the rain. A faint mist formed around the wood and Achillean watched in amazement as the water drew itself out of the stick. Ingressus tossed it into the fire and soon flames were licking along its length.
The rain stopped overnight, and the following day dawned bright and clear. The world shone like glass from the water beaded across every surface, little sparks of light gleaming from every leaf and twig. The sandy beach was cool underfoot, the damp grains sticking to your feet as you walked and forming clear footprints in your wake. A soft breeze blew in from the inlet, sending small ripples across the cove to break against the shore. Ingressus munched on an apple he'd found as they fished and Achillean's mind wandered, his thoughts idly chasing after the scraps of his dream. He wasn't sure how his mind had concocted an entirely new kind of portal…
The sun rose high into the sky, then inched slowly towards the west. The two wandered the patch of forest, picking apples from the tree Ingressus had found before ending up back at the cove.
"I take it you haven't had much practice at this, either," Ingressus noted.
Achillean huffed. "I have." He threw another stone and it spiraled through the air, landing with an unimpressive sploosh in the cove. "I've just never been good at it."
Ingressus threw another stone and it, too, disappeared into the waves without even a single skip. He scooped up another stone and studied it, as though trying to tease out the proper skipping technique from the grainy surface. "At least you grew up by the ocean."
"Ataraxia doesn't count?"
"The islands aren't exactly close to the shore."
"Point taken. But it's not like they're far, either."
Ingressus cocked his arm back to throw again but paused, looking out at the water curiously. Achillean followed his gaze, spotting the dark shape just before the Guardian emerged. It floated there, its orange spikes pulsing in and out as it studied the two with a single wide eye.
Ingressus lowered his arm, studying the creature. "What's a Guardian doing here?"
Achillean called out to the fish. "You've already scanned our minds. I came here three days ago, and Ingressus has lived here for years."
The Guardian gave no indication that it understood or cared. It just floated there in the water, staring at them without moving. Had they angered it somehow? Had they hit it with one of their stones? Or had they been taking its food by fishing in the cove? But surely it would have done something other than stare by now if it was angry…
A second Guardian appeared beside the first. Then a third: this one larger, paler, its eye a faint orange. An elder Guardian.
Achillean glanced at Ingressus, hoping he would know what to make of this. But Ingressus looked just as confused as he was, eyeing the Guardians with as much confusion as Achillean felt. Achillean was just musing on how best to pacify an angered Guardian when Ingressus stiffened, his hand going to his head as though a migraine had struck him. Achillean reached for him on instinct as the Voltaris hunched over, his narrowed eyes fixed on the Guardians'.
They were reading him, Achillean realized. He remembered how the memories would be pulled to the surface and played in his mind's eye, filled with impossible colors. It had been quite a shock the first time he had come.
But why would they be reading him now? Had they heard Ingressus's musings about killing or sparing Thalleous? Did they suspect he had lied when he told Achillean he wouldn't go after him?
Ingressus gasped, going limp and falling to his knees. He stared out at the floating Guardians as though tempted to give them a different piece of his mind.
"Ingressus?" Achillean asked.
"So that's what it feels like," Ingressus muttered.
Achillean held out a hand and Ingressus took it, climbing to his feet as he glared at the Guardians. The elder Guardian simply submerged and swam back out the mouth of the cove, leaving its companions behind. But before Ingressus could tell them off, something long and spiked flew at them from the water, aimed straight for them.
Achillean scrambled aside with a yelp. Ingressus snatched the thing from the air, then stopped and stared at it. Something else shot out of the water behind it, landing with a thump in the sand at his feet. The Guardians submerged and followed their elder without explanation.
After a brief moment in which neither Ardoni moved, Achillean broke the silence. "Well, that was strange."
He looked over the things the Guardians decided to throw at them. The first thing, the one Ingressus still held, was a staff as long as Ingressus was tall, made of sturdy oak that looked no worse for wear after its recent soaking. The staff was tipped with a set of large, curving diamond blades, arcing like a horseshoe until they almost touched. The second thing– oh, wow. The second thing was a large diamond sword. The jagged blade flared outwards in the middle, forming a set of secondary points that looked like they could do some nasty damage. The blade shimmered strangely red as the water ran off it– no, that was an enchantment, flickering over the diamond in a crimson sheen.
To say Achillean was confused was an understatement as he glanced up at Ingressus. "Do these mean anything to you?"
Ingressus was still staring at the staff he held, his red eyes wide as the moon. "These were my… they were mine."
He sounded dazed as he took the staff in both hands, staring out at where the Guardians had disappeared. "I thought they were lost forever…"
Achillean looked over the weapons again, noting the diamond, the enchantment. He was no warrior, but he knew that either quality made for a highly valuable weapon. "Where did you get these? They're impressive."
Ingressus didn't answer. Achillean looked up again in time to see the blades on the staff open up, the diamond unfolding into a secondary arc that framed the first. But how could diamond—
The realization slammed into his brain so hard Achillean half-expected it to come straight out the other side. He had seen that exact behavior from something else, something so close, so familiar to him, had seen Nestor's arcs of diamond spread and loosen from each other like flowing water or an untwisting rope but there was no way—
"Holy Songs," Achillean burst out, his eyes as wide as Ingressus's as he pointed at the staff. "Is that Voltar? Are you the—"
Ingressus's hand was clamped over his mouth before Achillean could finish the sentence, a wild look in his eyes. But it faded again, and he slowly let go.
"No one can know about this," he said in an intense whisper. "Not even anyone in Ataraxia. No one."
In Achillean's opinion, that was not the most important part of this situation. "You've been the Voltaris Master this entire time?"
Ingressus glanced down at the staff. "I didn't know I was."
Achillean spread his hands in disbelief, the how could you not know? obvious without being spoken. Ingressus took the staff in his hands again, gazing down at it in memory.
"My father passed Voltar down to me just before he died," he said in a low voice. "But during the raid, a blast threw me into the ocean. I woke up later in Ataraxia, with Voltar nowhere to be found." He ran his fingers along the flat of the diamond. "I had assumed it was lost in the ocean. Since there was nothing I could do to get it back, I figured it would find its way back to my clan on its own."
"I guess it did," Achillean said, still incredulous.
Achillean wondered what Ingressus would do now. Would he leave Ataraxia to reunite with his clan? Would he change his mind about killing Thalleous?
A different thought struck him. Should he tell Aegus about this?
Achillean had been keeping quiet about Ingressus's existence for years. He had only ever alluded vaguely to him to anyone outside of Ataraxia, referring to him only as "a friend" if he mentioned him at all. But this… with Voltar… knowing the Voltaris Master was so much bigger than knowing a single lost Voltaris. Achillean wasn't sure he should be the only one to know this information. He– he should tell Aegus, surely…
"What about the sword?" he asked, hoping that would get Ingressus's mind to move on from the topic of secrecy.
Please, don't ask me to keep this a secret. Because I don't know if I can.
Ingressus was still in shock when evening came, when the sun began to sink beyond the mountains and the air cooled with night. He could scarcely believe it was real, that the entire moment hadn't been some vivid hallucination. But every time he looked the sword was still there– Voltar was still there.
Had the Guardians had them this whole time? Had they taken them as he drifted through their waters, and kept them hidden for ten years? But why? And why return them now? Guardians were protectors of the world's magical sites. And while his clan did have its origin at the Heart of Ardonia, Ingressus didn't think that translated into any real difference from the other clans– or whether the other clans didn't have the same history. So what would the Guardians want with Voltar?
The staff looked the same as he remembered it. The large, arcing blades that adorned the head, the smaller diamond fittings that accented the base, the smooth, perfectly worn oak that made up the shaft. There had been a light coating of salt crystals in places from the ocean water but the staff itself was undamaged– not surprising, given the magic that preserved Master staffs. But there was something new about it now, some feeling that emanated from Voltar into his mind. It had the same feeling as a companion at his back, a torch guiding the way, a handhold as he walked an icy path. Voltar had stood beside generations of Masters, through the comforts of Voltaria and the trials of exile, and now it had accepted Ingressus as its wielder in turn.
He was the Master of his clan. No, he always had been. In all these ten years, he had been the Master of his clan. And in all those ten years, he had had no contact with his people. He had left them, had done nothing for them. But then again, what else could he have done for them? What could he, not even thirty at the time, have had to offer?
And how could he justify being gone for so long? He had assumed that he would never see his clan again, but now… there was no way that was an option anymore. But how would he explain his absence?
But before that ever mattered, he would have to get back to the Barrier Mountains. He could travel the wilds of Ardonia, or maybe sneak into a port city and catch a ride on a trading ship to Northwind. He would have to find one with no Ardoni in its crew, but that should be manageable…
"Ingressus?"
Ingressus realized that was the second time Achillean had said his name. He looked up from cleaning the sword– his sword– to see the Nestoris holding a stick with cooked fish speared on the end. "Your food is done."
Ingressus took the stick. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Ingressus kept an eye on Achillean as they ate. Achillean was staring into the fire, either deep in thought or purposefully avoiding his gaze.
Achillean had been uncomfortable from the start of this trip, clearly put off by the possibility that Ingressus might kill someone. Ordinarily Ingressus would be irritated but then again– Achillean wasn't wrong. He had wanted to kill the Champion, to spill his blood in payment for the Voltaris he'd killed.
And didn't he have even more of a duty to avenge them now? Who would he be if he let their killer go unpunished? Yes, the council would know it was him, but if he had to return to the mountains anyway…
But Achillean's mood wasn't just about killing Thalleous, surely. Achillean had been calmer earlier that day, but since the Guardians had appeared the Nestoris had become hesitant again, as though he were walking on skulk around Ingressus.
He heard Achillean take a deep breath. "Ingressus, I know you said no one could know about this…"
Ingressus's gaze shot up, and Achillean held up his hands. "Please just hear me out."
When Ingressus said nothing, Achillean went on. "Listen, you're a clan Master now. Meaning you have the same authority as the other four. So, hypothetically… maybe you could open peace talks."
Ingressus opened his mouth to argue, but Achillean sped on. "I know it seems like a tall order, but Aegus has been against the tournaments for as long as I've been alive– and, coincidentally, he'll be in Ataraxia for the next few days. If you were willing to speak with him, maybe that could be the first step towards peace with all the clans."
He met Ingressus's gaze. "I am sure that he would be willing to listen to you, and possibly even support you in talks with the other Masters when it gets that far. Surely it's at least worth considering."
No. Impossible.
Ingressus's instincts resisted the idea. The Masters were the orchestrators of the attacks on his clan. It was because of them that his people were so close to death, because of them that the Prime Songs had been turned against his clan. It was because of them that the raiders, the Champions, even existed.
"Aegus guards one of the Prime Songs," Ingressus pointed out. "If he were so opposed to the raids, then why would he give it to the Champions?"
"He tried to refuse once, back when I was younger," Achillean said. "I don't know exactly what happened, but the other Masters wouldn't take no for an answer. But Master Aegus always talks about how the raids bring out the worst in us. He's never once said anything good about them, and he's never nominated one of our warriors to be a contender like some of the other Masters do."
"Then why might they listen to me now?" Ingressus said. "If they are so determined to wage war on my people, why would they care in the least about an offer of peace?"
"They can't be happy about losing their people on the raids," Achillean pointed out. "The fighting is bad for them, too. And what has it ever gotten them? I'm no historian, but I can't think of any way the attacks have benefitted us."
"The four clans hate mine for supposedly destroying the resonances," Ingressus deadpanned. "And they fear us because they think we created the Prime Songs. I haven't yet found a way to prove them wrong."
"True," Achillean admitted. "But I think that's more of how all this started than the immediate concern for most people. When people talk about your clan, they're more afraid of attacks or counterattacks than anything else. Which, if peace could be made, would no longer be an issue."
Ingressus considered that. It was true that whenever someone in Ataraxia made a snide comment about his clan, it was more often about their belief that he would harm someone than about calling him a Song-killer. His clan did mount attacks on the other four– for supplies, but also to avenge their own. The Voltaris were not merely victims– they refused to be, refused to go out without a fight, refused to allow the other clans to act against them with impunity. He knew there were some that wanted an even greater revenge, who wanted to mobilize the clan in a strike against the others, against the Masters themselves, never mind the consequences. Ingressus hadn't always disagreed.
But that was then. He was older now, knew more about their supposed enemies. There were monsters among the four clans, stubborn, close-minded Ardoni who even after a decade refused to see past his red markings. But they did not represent the whole. There were those who would accept him and his people: Galleous, Kittrian, Ailera, Keleus, Madaris– even those like Saylor who would take some convincing but would eventually come around.
But he couldn't ask his people to lay down their weapons on some nebulous promise of peace. He would need something concrete, would need a clear way of calming the four clans' hostility towards them, before he could ask such a thing. That would certainly be easier with an ally in a position of authority among the four clans. But if Achillean was wrong…
"Just think about it," Achillean said. "You don't have to decide right now."
"I will," Ingressus said.
(4481 words)
Guardians can see shrimp colors. That is the reason for all the chromatic aberration when they're scanning someone. This is lore now, it will likely never come up again, you're welcome.