Chapter 76. You’re a Girl.

  Well, I suppose we should get back to the grieving blacksmith and that manic mariner. I told ya, pretty big things were happening at the castle. Don’t worry about Lief. Kids determined, he’ll be alright. Sid on the other hand, well, you know how he is, guy was always radiating fury. He typically ran from his problems—or hit them with a hammer—but honestly, he was done running. More so now that he had a personal vendetta against the Seven, he was, …well he was stomping through the woods like someone ripped him off—kind of like he has been for the last 3 days. Some people grieve differently. This wouldn’t be vengeance. This would be a new coming.

  He and Fenrir made good pace through the forest though. Sid had magnificent stars in Stomping. Stopping only to help a deer that had got herself snared in a low trap. And again to defend a couple travelers from a widowmaker that was more then likely responsible for the trap that snared the deer.

  The travelers never thanked Sid or even bothered to help. Once the two had seen the monster was distracted with the large, hooded fellow, they took off with their wagon. The wheel though, had a deafening familiarity with it. It was squeaky as hell. But the massive widowmaker was of more importance right now. Sid tightened his grip around Redemption and swung just as the spider lunged. Fenrir snapped. Snarling viciously. The green bar above the spider flashed.

  When the green bar above the spider depleted from green to yellow. Then again from orange to red. Sid swung hard. The red sliver flashed. Empty. He heaved with a heavy chest. Coughing as he kneeled to the curled carcass of the widowmaker.

  He hadn’t even the chance to catch his breath when something new happened—well no not entirely new, he’s felt this with his hammer before and again at the great twisted tree. There was an internal warmth that rippled throughout.

  He tried for a breath of air. It was hot. That heat was absorbed and roiled with satiation. Sid swallowed. Wiping the sweat from his face. That warmth exploded. The internal advancement forced a gasp. His core tingled for a beat—he hated that sensation. That fulfillment feeling was gut twisting.

  Looking at the sword in hand. There was a deeper connection with the blade. There was energy there. Not the enchantment bestowed over it either. He could feel a correlation with Redemption. Like it was speaking with him. Not like the voices he was already hearing either. The blade felt, …more pure. Even in its black charred condition. There was a light that couldn’t be seen.

  “Did you feel that?” the hooded mustache looked down at the shadowy pup.

  Fenrir only cocked his head. Eyes whiter than ever. The good boy was sitting at the edge of a shadow. Nose twitching on the air.

  Had it not been for those bright eyes and Sid’s eyepatch. He might not have been able to see the Howling-Shadow. Especially more so now in the deep dusk.

  There was something new about the green bar above Fenrir too. Just after the symbols he suspected to be Fenrir’s name, was a new symbol. A symbol he had mixed emotions about. On one side of the edge it showed growth. It was a sure sign of connection. No doubt about it. He and Fenrir were bonding.

  On the other side of the same edge. It made him apart of something he never wanted. It was a correlation in a different speaking. It showed that he was playing. That mark of intertwining let the Siblings know he was active. He was in the game now.

  Abram told him about the stars. Everything was skill. The more you do it, the better you become. Now it makes sense. He always heard adventures saying something about counting their stars before they went out. Now he understands it. How does he see his stars, is the true question now.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Now Fenrir didn’t have a full-blown star next to his name. It was a hollow, dotted outline of a star—but it was a start.

  Had it not been for his keen sense of smell he would have lost direction after the brief fight moment of advancement. Thank the gods—no, never thank the gods, thank the pioneers. Yes, the pioneers.

  Abram said they were the ones before the gods. The ones the gods looked up too. They were the ones who inspired the gods—I hear ya. ‘But duh gods are horrible, don’t dat mean duh pioneers will be bad too’ and that is a beautiful question, you’re so clever, pat your own shoulder and get out.

  But yes. Yes, even the pioneers were nasty. Originality has got to spark from somewhere. It’s whether one proceeds with the acts or not though that defines the soul. It’s alright to have a dark thought from time to time. It’s just a thought after all—but then again, it’s the thought that counts. So yeah, go ahead. Rob your neighbor and lie to your mama. Do whatever you want, as long as it’s what you want, don’t ever let the thought of those voices inspire your actions. Because once you do, the temptation only slips in easier with each passing imagination.

  Sid followed the path until the sky turned pink on one side and deep purple on the other. He had to of been getting close. He could smell those nappy dreads. Abram smelled like salty water and moldy earth.

  Fenrir must have picked up on the scent too because his nose now bounced with sniffy sniffs. Then paced ahead before stopping just out of normal eyesight. Sid’s eyepatch however outlined a body. Not just Fenrir’s outline either. Had he been able to read he would have known. The name was always just above the green life bar. Although this guy must have been injured his life bar was orange—Sid was still curious as to how to see his own. Fenrir was a good boy and stopped right in front of whoever it was. He assumed it was Abram. But when Fenrir started barking like he was a command away from tearing that guy limb from limb, Sid hurried along.

  “Knock it off!” Abram shouted at the shadow. “Knock it off, me warnin ya!” he lifted a balled-up fist, and proceeded to swing it around, like he was gathering momentum. Then he noticed the big hooded fellow approaching. It just had to be Sid. That was a mean looking coat of sickly-looking scale and tentacle though, he kind of wanted one. “Sid?” he questioned the hooded figure—who else would be walking around with a Howling-Shadow.

  “Abram, where is your cart, what happened to you?”

  Sid asked, as Fenrir let out a loud snap. Still barking madly. Not at Abram but at whoever was emerging from the bushes behind.

  “Oh, Arieo be fine by the way Sid thanks fer askin.” Abram grunted. Turning to assure the other man was safe.

  A man with short black hair, and a cowlick in the front that pushed the left side. Oddly enough the standing hair was electric blue. That blue really softened the shape of his face too. And he already had a kind face. One with sharp cheeks dusted with freckles, thin nose and long lashes. Gentle jawline with absolutely no sign of facial hair.

  God damn pretty boy if Sid had ever seen one. He thought they were just fable’s from fire-tale. Sid looked at him again. He bet he had soft skin. He sure smelled good. Like really good. Honey and lavender and something else that was sugary.

  Sid then noticed Arieo wasn’t here either. “Abram where is your donkey?” he looked at the other man again handing Abram his saber. The stranger then looked up at him, trying to peer under the hood of tentacles.

  That stranger’s eyes. Holy shit Sid just got lost in another mans eyes. They were so blue. Sapphires would have been jealous. He had never seen the great waters, but he was sure this man’s eye twinkled just like they would.

  “Sid, call your dog.” Shut up Abram Sid was checking this guy out.

  “Fenrir, stop it.” Sid said flatly. “Abram, who is this?” he asked.

  Fenrir stopped. Sitting like a good boy. Tail swooshing in the gravel. Head swiveling. Those bright eyes were seeking Arieo. Where was that donkey?

  Sid looked at the armor of the stranger. Admiringly too.

  His armor was the most polished silver Sid had ever seen. And as a blacksmith he could appreciate the care this man had for his metal. Metal needed to be cared for. Squinting as he followed the reflection. His shoulders were gold plated with subtle studs.

  One of the finest chainmail he had seen. Links so tight he would be surprised if wind would cut through. The man wore thigh armorer and shin guards. All of which the same shiny silver with a spot of studded gold.

  “Umm, how’d ye say yer name again dearie?” Abram asked.

  “Xantrilexa.” His voice was so soft. Almost like a song bird. “But everyone calls me ant.”

  Sid looked at the stranger again. He was a girl. In mans armor.

  “You’re a girl.” It might have been one of the simpler things Sid had said that day.