IN: 29 May 2008 0052 +8GMT (Singapore)

Chapter 7

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A slight creak in the weakened floorboards gave Seyren’s footsteps away, the Lord Knight’s pounding footsteps awakening Eremes. Perhaps it was not Seyren’s fault that the Assassin Cross had the ability to awaken instantly, though sometimes they both loathed it. It was a useful skill, but perhaps each has its own time to be useful. Eremes sat up, folding his arms, his face set straight. Seyren noticed something about the caste of Assassins – the way they sat and the way they held themselves not only made them look attractive to certain prospective girlfriends or boyfriends. The way they carried themselves made them look smart and neat, very much unlike the bands of Rouges scattered across the face of Midgard. Eremes stared back at Seyren who had, unconsciously, stared at his partner.

The clanking of metal indicated Seyren’s movement as he sat himself on the ground, feeling the certain warmth of the seal that was theirs to share. This laboratory, no matter what, was their secret. It was their secret for memories, for pain and for emotions. It was for the pain that they felt when tortured and abused in this inhumane place. The stench of death had always lingered around, and it always will, until the memories of their lives were destroyed along with each generation, forever and ever.

A sudden flash of metal alerted Seyren as Eremes withdrew his katars with a slight rubbing of blades. “We’ve got company,” he mumbled before he melted into the shadows, leaving Seyren all alone to contemplate on the life that he was living right now.

Vincent laid a foot on rotting wood, utterly silent as Blaine crept up behind his partner. He was partially afraid to meet Eremes – well known for eliminating any wandering soul that happened to stray from the slums of the Lighthalzen Eastern District into the laboratory. It seemed though that Vincent was in charge of every single one of the experiments, noticing each one gathering round, a mild buzz forming.

He felt himself shiver unconsciously as he glanced at the back of Vincent’s head, raven hair hidden in the darkness. He let his Assassin Cross’ instincts cover him, but couldn’t help but feel intimidated and out of place in such a place of beings with such great powers. Blaine tried spotting an Assassin Cross, finding snowy white hair and the scarred face that so many people had feared. He desperately wanted a spar, but knew better than to try with someone who was probably much greater than his calibre.

The conversation between Vincent and the experiments was quick, lasting a short few ticks of the watch before Eremes stood out, speaking in a language that he did not recognise. It was, perhaps, a language of old that he had not studied or had not been used for a long period of time. Certain words punctuated the air between them, “Sá hon vil ek at Goðþjóðar”. Blaine was intrigued with the language, but found himself facing a magician, probably not more than one or two years younger than he was. Magic was dancing at his fingertips playfully, and a smile was plastered on his face. “Come, join me,” he seemed to say. “Let’s have fun.”

Blaine retaliated, purple globes of poison floating from the edge of his claws. The magician stared in wide-eyed shock, stepping back, breath withheld. The room fell silent and Vincent gestured for the neutralisation of the poison with exasperated gestures of his hands.

A sudden chant had him withdraw his katana, but in a split second he felt himself being engulfed in unknown warmth, his legs buckling under him as he felt solid ground, quite suddenly, yet again. Vincent held a hand on Blaine’s shoulder, observing the movement of blood-red locks. The entrance to the laboratory had been locked. A group of people gathered outside the entrance, wanting to get in. Wizards did their spells of fire and Paladins smashed the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The Lighthalzen guards had bayonets drawn out, trying to stop the stampede. The door to the lab was sealed shut, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“I placed a seal.” Vince told Blaine under his breath, making sure nobody else heard him. He crossed over the railway tracks in which trains came and left from different parts of the republic. The guard on duty did not notice the two shadowy figures as they made their way across to the western district of Lighthalzen, where prosperity reigned unlike its eastern counterpart.

Stone grey buildings encompassed a square of sorts in which the guide was standing. The town was quiet; the silence being typical considering that nothing was to be done in Lighthalzen. A busker packed up and left, realising how lousy a place it was to attempt to collect some zenny through public entertainment. Vincent seemed to be mindlessly walking around with Blaine following on his trail. They passed by gates that led them into the premises of a gigantic building. The Rekenber building, it was called. A fascinating place it was too him. He spotted a young girl in the gardens, dipping her toes into the waters of one of the ponds scattered around.

Blaine let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The splendour of the interiors of the building was fantastically intimidating. Chandeliers hung sparkling in the light, marble tiled the floors and great paintings of oils hung from each wall, stunningly beautiful. Vincent kept a straight face as he walked on the carpet laid out on the ground, ignoring Blaine’s muted reaction to the surroundings. He had a slight nod towards the receptionist, before turning around abruptly, facing Blaine and clenching his partner’s shoulders. Blaine nearly winced.

“Stay here, and do not follow me. I have business with the manager of the Rekenber organisation. If you are questioned out of suspicion, please show this to whoever it may be who is disturbing your peace.” He dug for a piece of plastic with a strange logo and equally mysterious wording. Blaine looked up and found himself trapped in Vincent’s gaze yet again. He couldn’t move from those eyes, hard set and dangerous. He found his head throbbing and he felt heat rush through his body, a queer feeling pressing against his skin. Vincent lifted his gaze for a moment, before moving closer to Blaine, their faces moving dangerously close to each other. Blaine felt another rush of heat as he closed his eyes, feeling hot breath against his skin.

“Be good,” was all he whispered into his ear, before he melted into his surroundings, leaving Blaine to himself, alone.

Sagittarius had followed Deva and Cyrus to Comodo for no apparent reason, having asked a friendly priest to warp them to the City of Enjoyment, leaving out the possibility of taking a leisurely cruise to the island. They had been, of course, too lazy to travel on foot to the city. It was supposed to be something for them to spend time together, having been reunited from that last day. Sagi sighed, realising that Cyrus and Deva wouldn’t have any excuse to give her house a thrashing now that she’d visited and travelled with them again.

She glanced around, before focusing on the horizon. She wondered if anyone remembered what day it was today, and how special it actually was to her. She had felt like hinting the both of them, but went against it, choosing not to be so… crude, remembering her virtues – to be the humble, genteel lady that her mother had taught her to be.

“Sagi… Sagittarius?” Cyrus prodded her gently on the shoulder, the heavy bard uniform he had been wearing earlier in the day replaced with his light cotton shirt that wrapped snugly around the developed contours of his musculature. She felt a little curious upon realising that she did not see Cyrus dressed formally in uniform often. Perhaps that is what the bard is – a wandering soul with no obligations, travelling Midgard to spread his word of song and music. “What is it?” she had replied, gazing towards his direction, not daring to look into his eyes.

“Where’s Deva?” He asked her with slight concern over the Dancer. She could been quite an object of worry at times, with her habit of gallivanting wherever and whenever she could. She replied with a shake of her head, not knowing where she had gone to this time. They were both doing nothing in particular, just sitting in pinkish sands, watching as the waves coiled and drew back, lashing out at the shore. The sky was startlingly blue, with not a cloud to betray the weather; this tropical climate was very much unlike what other cities were experiencing now that it was near winter.

A sudden gust of wind blew their golden-brown locks together, Sagi’s long hair mixing with Cyrus’ short strawberry blonde tresses. His eyes seemed to reflect the piercing light of the sun’s fire as it began to set in the horizon, crimson staining the sands a darker shade of fuchsia. The sniper girl was unconsciously holding his hands, as if the gently breeze could blow her away any second, her frail form hiding the strong inner self that she held. Cyrus’ strong, masculine body hid a gentle undergrowth, a caring and kind heart, joyful and optimistic.

He held her closer, closing his hands around hers, feeling the smooth skin against his own fingers as their skin blended with the same shimmering tint. He turned and looked deeper into her eyes. She tried to look away, but kept still – she seemed lost in a faraway land, the blue of lapis lazuli seen in her pupils, as if her soul was transported to the realms of Valhalla itself. The silence between them was only occasionally broke with the crashing of waves, then Cyrus’ voice.

“Sagittarius…” he began, sighing. “I’d guess I’d never say this to you until now, but I must tell you…” her gaze maintained on him as he took in a deep breath.

“I lo…”

‘There you are!” The sudden, shrill voice of someone they knew very well cut through the tender moment that they were about to share. Cyrus and Sagi let go of each other’s hands, the dreamy expressions they originally had disappearing into nothingness, concealed yet again by typical faces of a typical human being. Deva bobbed up to t hem excitedly. “I’ve only been gone for two hours and here you are ten metres away from your original position!”

Both characters stared at her with a weird expression on their faces before gazing back at each other. Deva seemed oblivious to the situation which was, of course, not her fault. She left the two again to have a small conversation to a group of Gypsies nearby. Comodo was a very sociable place, as with the people. They didn’t care much about anything other than socialising, gambling, drinking… anything that wasn’t orientated in a serious manner.

Sagi stood and walked back to the chair which held her belongings, noticing something squarish that didn’t look like hers. It was a purple box decorated with satin cloth with a piece of paper stuck to the top, her name written out in neat, cursive handwriting. She glanced at Cyrus, looking at him suspiciously, though he was staring into the sunset, enjoying every single sensation that came rushing into his nerves. She opened the box, not expecting much.

A pair of diamond earrings greeted her with the sparkle of something that could only be divine. A note that had been placed in the box fluttered, written in the same cursive handwriting she knew very well.

“When the sun sets in the western hills,
Where points the velvet gloom of dawn,
The beautiful melody surrounding thy soul,
Is the key from the Lord Death’s wrath.

Such is the beauty of grace and strength,
Of one who chases the darkness of night,
To bring the Sol of day,
The revelation that changes it all

-By the great poet Crayu.

P.S. Happy Birthday.”

She glanced back to where Cyrus had last been sitting, finding no trace of the bard friend of hers. Letting out a small sigh, she unlatched the little pair of plastic earrings and fastened the newly-gifted pair to her ears. She admired the beauty of the purple gold – few Whitesmiths knew how to create such a metal and a Blacksmith could only dream of creating something so special only when he was experienced enough – the caste knew very well what inexperienced Blacksmiths were capable of, especially young ones.

“Must’ve been expensive,” she muttered under her breath to the wind. It replied with a soft coo, playing with her hair in all directions.

Cyrus trod back with a handful of star crumbs, placing them down on the chair and throwing a pouch full of star dust into the air, letting her surroundings turn a scene of glittering magic. He smiled charmingly, seeing his birthday present adorned by the receiver. Picking his violin up, he waited as Deva ran in with a cake, glimmering with a few candles in the early dusk. A short birthday song resonated through the air.

“Happy Birthday!”

Vincent had been right about people being suspicious about him. There were a fair share of people who questioned the presence of an Assassin Cross in the Rekenber Building, but with a slight wave of the card, those people were as good as gone. He now sat at the edge of a pond in the gardens, wondering what on Midgard he was doing. By right, he was supposed to be leading Vincent around, not the other way. A mist of water droplets found their way onto the bronzed skin of the Assassin Cross, a wind whipping several strands of bloodied hair. Blaine took this time to contemplate on the situation. He dismissed the thought of an instant friendship. He didn’t even know Vincent’s last name.

Unsheathing his katana, he read the runes for the last time. He then noticed a tiny engraving of cryllic letters that were placed near the edge, being nothing but microscopic scratches in the workmanship. He placed the cool blade against his warm forehead, feeling the sharpness of pure oridecon against his warm skin. He sheathed the sword with a quick motion, letting it sit restfully in its holster.

Blaine heard the pattering of footsteps on concrete, concealing himself as he watched Vincent walk past, then stop as he turned. He was dressed in a different uniform – this was a robe of black, silver tassels hanging from each side of the hood. On his hands were black leather gloves decorated with embellishments of silver. He held a sceptre instead of his pair of katars. He stood there for a moment, before he let out a sigh. Blaine felt himself wince at the tinkling sound of metal coming above him, before Vincent’s sceptre descended on his head, faster than what he would have expected it to be, feeling a distinct cracking sound, then the whoosh of a healing spell.

He was confused, and he never liked being confused. What exactly was Vincent? The question seemed to drill itself into his mind as he took yet another look at that uniform. He swore that he’d seen it before. The raven-haired teenager summoned a flashing portal of blue light, casting as he threw a blue gemstone to the ground, the energy shooting towards the liquid mass of sapphire. It formed itself into a runic circle on the ground, the reflection of Comodo Island seen within. Blaine slapped his head. Their intended destination had for Comodo all this while. Vincent had read his mind.

He stepped into the spell cautiously, letting it take his breath away as he fell through something liquid, trying to find footing on a surface. Solid ground formed beneath his feet again as the sultry weather of tropical Comodo got to his head. The blinding heat of the afternoon sun burned the sand into pink glass, sunset evident in the horizon. He’d have taken his Assassin Cross’ uniform off if not for the fact that he saw another group of his caste not far from where he was standing. Of course, they were perspiring, but they were nonetheless proud to represent their class of silent killers.

The beach had suddenly gone quiet, all eyes on the block, now hooded figure as he made his way through the crowd of tourists, locals and students of the dance school. Some whispered words too incoherent to decipher, others told their young ones to be quiet. Few explicitly said that this person was of high order, but they mostly did it in near silent voices. Vincent ignored their comments, disappearing into one of the huts that was scattered around the city.

Blaine detoured, heading towards the Casino, deciding to finish their, or rather, his, unsettled business. A gang of Rouges and Stalkers swaggered up to him, growling as they choked Blaine with cigar smoke. He pushed them aside nonchalantly, having no need to engage them in conversation. The boss heated, taking Blaine by the neck. A dark flash crossed his eyes as red pupils pierced through the Stalker, who now trembled. A sharp flash of oridecon on the forearm stained the planks a dirty ruby, Blaine continuing to his destination.

It was getting hotter.

OUT: 4 Jun 2008 0000 +8 GMT (Singapore). The original chapter (06) will be split into two parts.