It wasn't long before they found their first thieves' den.
Thankfully, it was empty, but they stayed alert nevertheless. Not just because of whatever criminals might lurk by, but because spots like these were usually close enough to busy roads for the thieves to meet a steady stream of targets—for themselves, the potential of many unwanted eyes—and then retreat to safety. The den was nothing more than a small hut hidden by a cluster of leafy briars, but it didn't look like it had been abandoned for too long: The space was relatively clear with just a few pieces of furniture and a thin layer of dust.
Ciara and Ferris were eager to explore the building—partly out of fascination, but mainly out of whatever spoils the thieves happened to leave behind. Admittedly, there wasn't much: There were scraps of half-eaten food, jugs of stale water, and little in the way of treasure. Their greatest prize was a small pouch of gold hidden within a straw mattress, which thrilled the pair enough.
By that point on their journey, Castellar had learned that it was quicker to simply let the two girls have their way and keep watch when they wanted to stop for brief moments like this. He didn't condone it, but no amount of fighting was going to solve anything and these breaks made them quieter and more content to listen later on.
Still, he couldn't keep himself from criticizing their behavior. "You two really are a pair of wastrels, aren't you?" he raised a brow at them from the doorway, "You did this back at the border checkpoint as well: I tell you we have plenty of money to get us across Ebott and you insist on stealing nevertheless."
"But then again, that's your money, isn't it?" Ferris chirped, holding the newly obtained pouch with a grin, "Not ours. Why would we want to rely entirely on your good graces?"
"For all your talk of looking after your sister, you make a poor role model."
"I doubt robbing from robbers is the worst crime I could commit—and if pickpocketing a few coins or swiping a loaf of bread is worthy of some great punishment, I promise you, I've been flogged enough to pay my dues tenfold." A note of warning dripped into her tone to let him know he was prodding her too much over a sore subject, "Besides, it never changed my number."
The subtle comparison to his high kill count couldn't pressure him into silence, "So, you admit you're a thief then?"
There it was… The hint of superiority that grated on her nerves more than anything. Despite how well things were going even for all their bickering, that particular trait of his ensured her that they would never truly get along beyond necessity.
Of course she worried how her choices affected Ciara, but an empty stomach worried her more. Ferris wasn't disillusioned enough to think that what she was doing was completely right. There was once a time where she never would've dreamed of picking an apple from a neighbor's yard without asking first. That time had come and gone. To her current self, everything was second to a set of twin goals: Their freedom and survival. If she had to pick between the two, it would be the latter. And as much as she might've attempted to preserve something greater, the number 'two' looming over her head was proof enough of what she'd sacrifice if it meant she and Ciara could live.
But what would he know? A skeleton that had dismissed her feelings over that number because of his larger one, yet acted as if she was beneath him for something like this? Who called her a criminal even when he admitted that he still would've stolen her away for his guild if she hadn't complied?" Something in her hardened.
"Yes, I am a thief," Ferris answered him bluntly, still stuffing her pockets with whatever loose change could be found. "I'll steal to live even if I know it's wrong and can't stand people stealing from me. I'm a hypocrite. I'm not the best person. Still, I'd like to think that, unlike most people," she turned around, giving an all-encompassing wave of her hands, "at least I can admit it instead of making up excuses."
Noticing her pointed smirk, Castellar glowered, "If you're trying to imply something, just spit it out. What have I said that was hypocritical? How have I ever wronged you?"
"You pretend to be my savior when all you want is my power like everyone else, for starters—all with the idea that your guild is somehow the lesser of evils. But what do I know…?" she hummed, moving past him as she exited the hut with a carefree step, "After all, 'Monsters are made of love, hope, and compassion,' right? What could you possibly do wrong? Not like us Humans, since 'we don't need such things.'"
Though Ferris kept her tone fairly casual, there was no hiding the tinge of disgust in it. Castellar's eyes slightly widened. Those words were part of a familiar claim that was echoed across the Monster Kingdom. If Monsters were fearsome, magical creatures that devoured souls to Humans, then Humans were pathetically magicless creatures who lived according to their naturally wicked natures to Monsters. Those sentiments were so widespread that it didn't surprise him that she could recite those words so accurately.
However, that didn't mean he accepted her throwing them in his face as if he'd uttered them himself, "When did I ever tell you that?"
A little calmer than before, she replied, "You said enough, when you were talking to Briddle back in Heartwood."
To Ferris, Briddle's mix of fear and clueless curiosity toward her species had only been funny because he hadn't thought to question the sisters' identities as anything other than jesters. If he had known they were Human—after seeing him fight and remembering all of the traps they'd passed on the way to the village—she know it would've been a much different story. They would've been taken as an obvious threat.
It took Castellar a minute to recall what she meant, an agitated curse slipping past his teeth. He stepped closer to face the girl directly, "What should I have said then? And I don't believe what I said was much of an insult—you Humans are comparably weak!"
In truth, it was much more complicated than that. For Monsters, the soul and body were very much intertwined while, for Humans, the body acted as more of a vessel. As a result, the mental and emotional state of the Monster and those they engaged with had a greater affect on their bodies than it did a Human's. Things like willpower or desire—the urge to heal, to hurt, to kill, to live—had a much greater effect on them.
If a Monster fell into despair, they could fall down. If a Human did, their ends still typically required some external action. The Human body simply wasn't influenced by the soul to the same degree as a Monster's, but it didn't change the fact that they were still very fragile. Aside from mages, they couldn't defend themselves with magic. They collected cuts and bruises they couldn't explain the origins of. A simple fall could kill them.
That line of reason was lost on the girl though. She scoffed, almost disbelieving, "You could've said nothing! And if the kindest thing you can think of to say about Humans is how easy we are to knock off, I sincerely wonder how and why you joined a mages' guild in the first place."
Ciara walked out with her own pocket of spoils next, her elder sibling beaming at her proudly. Castellar watched the mute exchange and just shook his head—glad, at least, that they could now be on their way again. "For the record, I don't hate your kind," he clarified, then quickly added under his breath, "but, for you, I could make an exception…"
"Then I'm glad we've found one thing we agree on," came the sharp retort.
The next day continued much the same as the ones before it: Seemingly endless walking and arguing across the wilderness. Mt. Ebott steadily grew closer and the ground all the more rocky and uneven. Caution insisted that they take the long way.
The rougher terrain that usual was hard on the girls. As well as they'd been eating recently, the two were still far from healthy. After a point, Ferris didn't even have the strength to carry Ciara anymore and instead just dragged the child after Castellar and herself. Meanwhile, the young skeleton—as always—didn't seem to tire in the slightest.
Ferris wondered if his stamina was the result of training under the guild's leadership or his legendary soldier of a father. If it was thanks to the guild, she worried what that meant her own potential training might be like… The specific role of a seer was typically more passive than that of other mages. For armies, they helped predict enemy movements. For nobles or wealthy merchants, they might lend a bit of advice to their businesses or at a gambling table. If they never managed to get caught by anyone and somehow still dwelled with the common man, they might attempt a living selling fortunes. A guild would likely have all kinds of similar jobs lined up for her. However, it was expected that all mages know a bit of combat. Beyond the simple monetary value of the skill, it was a matter of life and death.
There were several tales of seers in-particular that met an untimely end. In older days, some had their predictions mistaken for curses: A warning of death or disaster was instead thought to be a threat. If those horrifying predictions turned out to be true, the seer might be blamed for whatever happened. Now, in an age where mages were more accepted, if a person bet everything on a prediction that was inevitably proven wrong, a seer might be instead executed as a trickster or charlatan. So, for Ferris—even with the added safety net of her unique ability—refusing to learn how to run and fight was like begging for a rope to be tied around her neck.
If Castellar's example was anything to go by, it would definitely be hard work. His strength went beyond basic self-defense: He had a knight's endurance! If the guild intended to put her on his level, then she didn't need magic to see many painful days ahead of her…
Castellar stretched out his arm as a sign for them to halt, and the move was so sudden that Ferris nearly ran into him. A lump formed in her throat. The boy kept quiet, inching to the ground in a low squat that the two sisters mimicked in order to duck beneath the sparce undergrowth. He kept his gaze pinned on something in the distance. Straining not to move any further, Ferris followed his eyes.
The evening sky was bathed a deep red that turned everything beneath it into dark silhouettes. It also partially camouflaged a small, quadrupedal figure that stood alone and alert on a bolder far ahead of the trio. It looked like a fox at a glance, but with a faint twist of its body, Ferris quickly noticed that the creature had two tails instead of one. As opposed to the usual pattern, only the tips of them were painted a soft white while the rest of its fur stayed a strong, fiery color.
It was staring directly at them in turn.
Castellar neither moved or spoke. His expression incredibly wary, he seemed hesitant to do much of anything that might provoke the creature. Instead, it was as if he was waiting for it to act first. Quickly growing impatient in the tense moment, Ferris tapped his shoulder, "What is that thing?"
Without looking back her way, he answered, "A familiar."