Umbral Rune: Chapter 3 - Ruses, Ploys, And Deception

  "Oliver," I dragged myself between the scattered trees, "I'm shading tired."

  "Tired?" asked the hunter. "But you're dead? I thought without muscles and stuff, you couldn't get ti-"

  "Of walking!" I flung arms to the night sky. "How much longer 'til we reach Belza Hill?"

  "Oh. Well, the trip is three days. We've walked for three hours."

  Urgh… There's gotta be someway to cut this down…

  But as a matter of cruel, cruel fact, there wasn't. Not on our first day of travel.

  Dawn peeked over the horizon to mark our second when I saw it: a horse-drawn wagon in the distance, bumping along the rocky path towards us. Driving it was a stout, rosy-cheeked woman - to paraphrase Oliver.

  Eventually we crossed paths with the whistling coachwoman, who was content to pass us with a guarded tip of the hat - probably not helped by my suspicious appearance. As usual, I could barely make out more than silhouettes from behind my hood. But my mouth worked just fine.

  And I tasted an opportunity.

  "Good morning, miss," I put on my most trustworthy voice, drawing attention away from the amateurishly-sewn holes where I'd been stabbed the day before. "My friend and I were wondering if we could hitch a ride. To Belza Hill, specifically."

  She signaled for her horses to stop. "Belza Hill y'say? Youngin’s, I just came from over yonder. And if I don't deliver these goods 'fore dusk," she gestured back to the barrels and sacks in her carriage, "my pay'll get slashed in half."

  Pay…?

  Subtly, I nudged Oliver. He glanced at me, shadowy head tilted, 'til I whispered something.

  The coachwoman continued, more absorbed with her woes than us. "And that doesn't even begin to mention-"

  "Sorry to interrupt!" Oliver extended a hand. "I hope this is enough to pay for your time and effort, ma'am." In his palm rested a lumpy pouch full of gold rounds, dug out of the massive backpack he dropped on the path.

  "Eh… Oliver?" I asked. The coachwoman bent and swiped the pouch before I could say much else.

  She opened it curiously. Instantly her eyes sparkled so bright I could see them through my hood. "Sun above…" The woman snapped out of her daze and hastily tucked the jingling pouch into a purse at her side.

  Of course, I always intended to pay her - good luck finding someone to drive you across the countryside for a thank you and a smile - but handing over that much? I remembered hearing - though I couldn't remember where - that one gold round buys a feast for a whole family.

  And there must've been hundreds in that pouch…

  "Well, what're you two standin' around for; we're burnin' daylight!" She beckoned with newfound camaraderie. "Hop on!"

  Oliver lifted his backpack merrily. "Oh, this will be my first carriage ride ever! Let's get going Skell!"

  "R-right…" I said.

  …Maybe we'd have been better off hoofing it.

  The second my skeletal butt hit the wagon's wooden floor, I knew we weren't in for a luxury ride.

  Not helping was the constant bouncing. I could've sworn someone planted a rock on the road a full minute ahead of the last - every time - just so I couldn't get too comfortable. Somewhere between bumps, however, I found a silver lining.

  Back of the wagon, past large barrels and salt sacks, was a spot I could slip behind. Normally, hooded men hiding out of sight was beyond suspicious, but if the coachwoman cared for two things, it was the road and her overflowing coinpurse. Tagalongs were a distant third.

  Discovering a moment of safety, I threw off my hood to steal glances at the countryside. Lime hills rolled in every direction offroad, some tipped in rings of mushrooms. Herds of lazy goats and schools of cloudfish roamed across the ground and sky respectively. Seeing the world through unveiled eyes, though? My mind couldn't help but drift.

  To glamour magic.

  All this sneaking won't be a concern once I have that. No more giving awkward excuses to road patrols or curious passerby; I'll look as normal as they do. Shade… I can't wait.

  Out of the corner of my eyehole, someone suddenly shot by the box I hid behind. Fear surged through my bones… 'til I realized it was just Oliver.

  "What are you doing?" I retreated into my hood, watching Oliver's silhouette dive headfirst into the backpack he left against the wagon's back wall.

  "Agh!" He clearly didn't hear me, "I hope this don't make me a bad brother!"

  I rose, tapping his shoulder with a glove he fished out that very same backpack to replace my old one - now in dusty tatters back at Sienna Village. "Oliver? Hey-"

  "Here it is!" he reeled out a fancy envelope that I glimpsed at from under my hood. A complex crimson and ivory insignia of lion and eagle heads marked the center, surrounded by a hexagon. Above that - in big fancy letters - wrote "Templar Order".

  "How could I have forgot?" Oliver shook his head. "Maybe all that stuff with Velora, or all these new sights…" he sighed, "no, I shouldn't make excuses."

  "Wait. That's your sister's message, right?" I pointed. "The one you and Ansel talked about?"

  Oliver nodded sadly. "We never got to open it with grandpa's injuries cropping up. He left the message in his backpack for safekeeping, but I didn't even think about it until now… and worse, he won't be able to read it."

  He looked to me. "Grandpa is miles away now. And we can't turn back."

  I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Yet. Won't be long 'til you're back in Sienna. You'll tell him all about it then. Besides, I don't know much about Amara, but I doubt she'd want you opening her message with a frown."

  "I reckon you're right… no, you're definitely right! I can't feel down, or I'll end up spoiling Amara's letter. And grandpa… well, he's older than any tree I've ever seen - he knows well enough how to be patient! At least until I get back home."

  Then, with his usual pep, Oliver stepped past me and plopped himself where I sat before. I looked elsewhere, releasing the breathless equivalent of a sigh.

  When Ansel asked me to keep his death under wraps, there were a few things I didn't entirely consider. Like how his grandson expected him to be happy, healthy, and alive. Whenever my mind drifted to other matters, Oliver would bring up Ansel. Constantly. And I had to play my bitter part.

  He deserves the truth. But I can't tell him.

  Ansel needed Oliver to meet Amara and be unshackled from Sienna Village. I needed that too, if I wanted any chance of coming back to life. Help - especially from a hunter with a backpack brimming with useful tools - would be essential.

  I clenched a fist. He'll know soon. The second you two make it to his sister. Just sit tight 'til then…

  "Skell, I'm getting mighty antsy. Oh, but not to rush you or nothing."

  "Rush me?" I spun around, finding the unopened message still in his hands. "You… want me to read it with you?"

  "Why not?" he shrugged with one shoulder, the other preferring to keep still. "It's always better to share good moments with friends."

  …Why can't he be a mean little turd and make this easier!?

  "Well, all right." I found a narrow spot beside Oliver. "Let's tear it open, see what it says."

  Except Oliver didn't do the slightest bit of tearing. He undid the packaging with gentle care, pulling out a creased letter that unfolded in the breeze.

  All this reverence and that fancy insignia, just for a letter? Who is this Amara woman?

  Raising my hood slightly, I followed along to a recounting of life updates in unexpectedly proper diction: new foods she'd discovered in far-off cities, improvements to her training regiment, and how a promotion seemed to head her way - which brought a goofy grin to Oliver's face.

  Though a word flashed within all the humdrum that made me freeze.

  Undead…?

  Amara's writing took a sharp turn into an "assignment" of hers, where she came into conflict with several undead: husks, geists and… skeletons. Bare fists culled them all with barely any fanfare.

  Like it was simple work.

  Oliver eventually noticed me looking aside. A frown replaced his smile. "S-sorry," Oliver lowered the letter. "She doesn't usually mention her assignments. I hope what she said didn't… um… offend you?"

  My attention darted to the fancy packaging at our side, and the name that labeled it. "…What is this Templar Order, exactly?"

  "Y-you don't know them?"

  "Besides what you said the other day - you and Velora - I've heard squat."

  Oliver's lip quivered at Velora's name. With visible effort, he swallowed his apprehension, leaned closer, and whispered. "They're this group of really powerful warriors. There's supposed to be over a hundred, and they all train for years to…"

  "Slay undead like me," I finished.

  His silence was telling.

  "So they'd kill me without a second thought?" I whispered sharply. "Incredible. Just incredible. Not to mention your sister's one of them, and gifted enough to get promoted to this," I laid a glove against the letter, "'Paladin' rank?"

  "I swear, Skell, Amara ain't like that - she's a hero! She saves folks from undead, it's… just that you're different. Special. You can be kind and do the right thing. I don't think other undead are like that."

  "But then…" Even before I spoke, I knew he had a point. If every other undead was a mindless monster, then a group that slays them… couldn't be bad. Could they?

  "Fine…" I conceded, "I'm sure Amara and the others are decent enough. But on the off-chance one ever finds me out, I doubt they'll all be willing to hear me out over tea. If they… try to destroy me, I need to know what to look out for. I need to be ready."

  "Ready? For what?"

  "To run? Survive? Not fight them, if that's what you're worried about."

  Mostly because my chances against even a sick child were hilariously low - let alone against a warrior specifically built to hunt me. A body of bone built me weak and frail, and without any combat skill, I had nothing to leverage.

  Except Hand of Decay. But that art… I swore to never use again.

  Oliver tapped his chin. "Well, Amara always says they're super tough and skilled. But they also have an ace-in-the-hole."

  "For undead?"

  "Yup. Light magic."

  I made sure no one was around before lifting my hood to ensure I saw Oliver's face with full clarity.

  Nope. He's completely serious.

  "That doesn't make any sense," I said. "Light magic has it's unique traits, sure, but it's no more special than the other elements."

  "Um… that's not what I heard. Amara says the kind of light arts that only bother someone can injure undead. And those that injure a person…" he exhaled. "Something about undead really, really doesn't like that element."

  "So not only are they deadly warriors, but if they decide to use magic, I'm a goner?" I buried my face in my gloves. "I'm gonna die…"

  "No, no, you're not going to die Skell."

  "Why? Because I'm already dead?"

  "Ye- no!" Oliver shook his head vigorously. "It's because they'll never find you. Remember our plan: all we have to do is get into town, convince grandpa's friend to glamour you, then we're set! They'll never know to hunt you if you don't look like prey!"

  He's so optimistic. Wish I could be as sure as him. But… maybe he's right.

  "Not too much longer until we taste Belza Hill, boys!" The coachwoman announced. "You two're still back there, ain'tcha?"

  "Yes ma'am!" Oliver shot above the box. "And thanks again for the ride!"

  "Thanks again for the money!" she matched his enthusiasm, turning back to the road.

  Slowly I tore my face from my gloves, and as I did, excitement and fear washed over me.

  My first goal wasn't far. We needed to find this lady and fast, before I was discovered.

  Again.

  The wagon bumped to a steady stop. Oliver, always intrepid, thought to skip the wagon's safe steps and leap onto the grass below. With a flip he vaulted over the wall and landed with a slight stumble. A strong eight, if I were grading the jump.

  He turned around, "Don't tell me you're gonna take the steps, Skell. You gotta jump too! Even if I reckon yours will be worse."

  Out of a hundred.

  I wasn't half as athletic as Oliver, but at the same time, I couldn't let his challenge slide.

  "All right, all right, stand back," I faced the wall overlooking Oliver. "When I bust out my triple pivot backflip, you won't wanna be anywhere close."

  "That's not even a real thing!" Oliver grinned.

  As I stepped back with exactly zero plan for how I wouldn't fall flat on my face, something caught my attention: the coachwoman. She'd finished fiddling with her bags and dropped down the steps herself. For once she was more interested in watching us fool around than ogling her coin purse.

  I stopped. From her angle, a jump - enhanced by the windy weather - could blow up my hood. Being seen by a single person for even a single second… that was a risk I couldn't take.

  "N-nevermind Oliver," my posture lowered. "You can have this win. I'll just take the steps…"

  "That's it?" the coachwoman slapped her hips as I passed her, "I was ready to see this 'double axle front-flip'. Prolly would've made my day."

  Triple pivot backflip… I seethed.

  "Is… something wrong?" Oliver asked when I neared him.

  "Just don't feel so great. Stomach's acting up."

  That tilted his head.

  "Anyway," I faced the coachwoman, "we appreciate the ride, lady. Now if that's everything, we should be-"

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  "Hold your horses," she said as her own gnawed at the grass beside the road. "Neither of you, I'm gatherin', seem to be from 'round these parts. I have an offer."

  The coachwoman presented the towering dark hump behind her - Belza Hill. "An amazing town lies ahead - a cornerstone of trade and commerce in southern Lumerit. Some information and history could go a long distance in making your visit as fulfilling as possible! And be honest, isn't it gorgeous?"

  "Yeah!" Oliver agreed. "It was amazing seeing it from far off, but it's even more awesome up close! I can't believe they were able to find a hill so massive and with such huge layers. And then the buildings on those layers - they're so much bigger than the ones in Sienna Village!"

  I crossed my arms. "Yup. Looks magnificent."

  "It's all man-made, my friends. I could tell all about it," she leaned forward. "If you'd like."

  A bad feeling hit me. "Thanks, but we don't really need-"

  "People built this!?" Oliver's jaw fell. "How? How? Oh, I bet magic did it!"

  "You're right, my friend," a foul smirk spread over her face - at least in my imagination. "See, long ago, Belza Hill was so flat that its people didn't even know what hills were. Just called it Belza, believe it or not. Anywho, it used to be constantly sieged by monsters… one day, a lost boy appeared… bloodthirsty trolls attacked… village protected the boy at great cost… father appeared - get this: a master earth mage… as a gift, lifted the very earth into the clouds… lived happily ever after! Neat tale, wouldn't you say?"

  Oliver ate the story up. I didn't have the same appetite. Mainly because I suspected what'd come after her torrent of tangents and dubious historical tidbits.

  "Oh, but that tale completely tuckered me out," the woman laid a theatrical hand over her forehead. "So much action. So much drama. Say…" she entered a humble stance, "would you agree another small piece of compensation to be well worth the experience? Take for example, another pouch?"

  Oliver dropped his backpack, reaching into it. "Sur-"

  "Let's not push it," I cut in, preferring not break the record for fastest time someone burned through a fortune.

  "Fine then," the coachwoman muttered bitterly. Tightly strapping her coin purse, she climbed the steps back to the wagon's driver seat. "One more thing, mister," she looked to me. "You might like to take that hood off, unless you prefer to trip over your own feet," she giggled, turning her wagon around and bumping along back down the road.

  "Well, that wasn't very polite," Oliver noted. "you might walk a little funny, but you haven't tripped yet."

  I tried to ignore them both. "It doesn't matter. Now that she's gone, we'll need to figure out how to play this," I pointed to Belza Hill's looming shape ahead. Circling it was a large stone wall - covered in human silhouettes - probably built to scout for and defend against monsters. Some dark irony, I figured, that it served as my next obstacle.

  "Have you decided which one to go with yet?" he asked. "It was between the scarring plan and the disease plan, wasn't it?"

  "Think I've landed on the latter. That one's been the most reliable with road patrols. Hopefully it won't fail us here. Just follow my lead."

  Having scoped out the area, Oliver and I walked the rest of the road 'til we stopped at a wagon-sized gate - the only way into town. In front was a man and woman whose crossed spears barred the entrance. Though it was hard to make out, they seemed to wear gambesons and iron helmets - more signs they were members of the town's militia.

  Militia weren't a surprise to see; arming your people and establishing a defense force would be high on any town's to-do list, unless they wanted to become a hotbed of crime, be invaded by brigands, or overrun by monsters. Abyss, maybe even in that order.

  That said, I doubted they were prepared for a talking skeleton.

  "Militia, I take it?" I spoke with fake formality. "My brother and I'd like to be granted passage into your town."

  The two paused, before the man on my left nodded. "Yeah, we figured that," he said dryly. "Can't say the hood over your face inspires confidence, though."

  Great. A wise guy.

  "Let me explain," I extended my gloves. "I've come down with a nasty condition - not contagious, else my brother would've caught it weeks ago. Problem is, its… disfigured me."

  "Yeah!" Oliver added. "He looks terrible! Just downright awful!"

  All right Oliver, tone it down…

  He didn't. "Think of giant, oozing boils all over his face! You wouldn't even be able to tell my brother from a bloated toad!"

  The male guard tilted to his partner. "That bad, huh? Curious."

  Oliver! You don't need to go into deta-

  "That's just horrible!" the female guard lowered her spear, surprising us all.

  "I-it is!" I dropped my shoulders. "It makes me very self-conscious, if I'm being honest. Hiding my face is the only way I feel comfortable going outside."

  "I understand completely," she said. "You know, back when I was young, I used to have horrid acne. Not the same affliction by any metric, but kids made fun of me all the time. It must be so much worse for you. People must treat you like some type of monster."

  "Finally, someone gets it!" I blurted, before catching myself. "Wh-what I mean is, I'm happy you understand my plight."

  The man crossed his arms, keeping his spear close.

  "You're still suspicious?" she asked.

  "I'm always suspicious," he replied.

  The woman sighed. "We know. Look, I can tell he's a decent man. I have an eye for these sorts of things - you know that."

  "An eye that sees what? All's I see is fabric," he jabbed.

  They held eye contact for a while. Oliver and I waited tensely. Finally the male guard looked to the sky, grumbling to himself. "Fine. This bleedin' heart believes your story… and I suppose it'd be rude of me to go ripping off your clothes to check. Go on," he tilted his head to the gate.

  Huh… Works for me.

  Oliver and I stepped forward. Though as we passed them, the point of the man's spear winked at me.

  "However," he raised his chin, "I'll need you to memorize something: that hood does you and your brother no favors. I suggest you rid yourself of it and that condition promptly, for the authorities' peace of mind, the civilian's, and your own." He looked away. "…There's several shops selling salves and ointments in the Lower Layer. See them."

  With that, he backed away. The gate was finally open.

  Heartless as I was, it felt like my chest was pounding. Quickly I nodded to the guards and hurried ahead. Though the woman shouted to us before I made it too far. "Hope your condition clears up!"

  Once we were out of earshot, I let out a relieved snicker that grew into full-on laughter. "Oliver, I can't believe that worked! I expected a simple "sorry about your condition, carry on," like the others, but even that skeptic eventually let us through."

  While talking, I scanned our surroundings in spite of my shoddy sight. We walked past shadowed crops, workers, and fenced-in animals. Open farmland, which stretched from the walls to the rising town itself. The gravel path split it down the middle.

  We were about halfway across when I turned to Oliver. "…Everything okay?" I asked. He hadn't said a word since the gate.

  "I feel bad," he said softly. "We keep lying to folks. Most of them are polite, like that lady. The man too, in a way."

  "They were polite. But this… it's necessary, Oliver. This hood comes off and I'm done for."

  "I know. Being undead must be terrifying. I just wish there was a better way."

  "…I do too, Oliver."

  It's not like I enjoy all these plans and tricks, Oliver. They're… just because I have no other choice. That's all…

  "You're really good at that," Oliver finally said as we neared the town's entrance. "Lying, I mean. I could never pull one over on grandpa like that. Or the villagers."

  Then, Oliver turned to me. His expression was hidden in darkness. "Would you lie to me? If you had to?"

  Despite the sudden question, a response came to mind quickly. It was the realization after that left me hesitating. "I… well, I think that…"

  "S-sorry," he shook his head, "that was a silly question. Pretend I didn't ask it."

  Easier said than done. The question was alarming enough, but there must've been more to it than simple curiosity. But if that was the case, then that could've meant…

  No. No… that's ridiculous. There's no way Oliver knows. Those stalberries kept Ansel standing tall even to the end, and it's not like Oliver saw the worst of his injuries. Plus, he isn't the type to hide his thoughts. I would've noticed something by now…

  My better judgement disagreed, but I decided to follow-up. "Why… what makes you ask-"

  The shrill strum of a lute cut conversation short like a door to the face.

  "Wha-what is that?" Oliver jumped.

  Our conversation - I noticed - distracted me from what lied ahead. The path we walked led us to a massive earthen staircase built into the hillside, so tall from our angle that it blotted out the sun. We stood at the first step, staring high to find the sound's origin.

  Help came in the form of another sound. This time a harmonious melody.

  "This music sounds so… so…" Oliver never found his perfect word. As if possessed, Oliver's body glided up the staircase, chasing the music as more instruments joined in.

  "O-Oliver!?" I extended an arm as the distance between us grew. A similar possession came over me, though from a very different source. Giving in to it, I followed my friend up the grand steps.

  I couldn't keep my teeth from chattering.

  Sienna was one thing. But this town was infested with people, walking every which way and prattling like there wasn't an undead within slaying distance.

  Exhausting effort went to suppressing my dread as I worked to pick out Oliver among the crowd. My fists clenched when I realized his silhouette looked just as black as everyone else's.

  In time, I figured this place was some sorta town square, sitting at the knee of the massive hill. Two more 'Layers' - as passerby called it - resided much higher, reachable by more towering staircases in the distance.

  But Oliver couldn't have gone far.

  Like the farmland far below, the Lower Layer was a giant ring, one side hugging the hill's wall and the other facing a freefall of open air, though an unbroken line of fences and buildings made falling off more an irrational fear than genuine danger.

  The music, though, came from the opposite direction. I followed it's tune.

  Corner of the square was a crowd swaying before a stage of performers - all playing different instruments. At the crowd's edge was someone jumping to see over the mass of shadowy heads. Someone wearing a conspicuously large backpack.

  I hastily bumped between the mass of people between us, leaving several "sorry's" in my wake. Eventually I reached him. I wasn't happy.

  "Oliver, I-!"

  "Shh, not so loud," he put a finger to his lips. "You'll drown out the music."

  I'll drown you!

  "You know," he refocused on the - admittedly - talented performance, "I never heard anything like this before. Sometimes we'd sing, back in the village. But this is like a whole different world."

  Staying annoyed with him was too hard to keep up. I collected myself, then responded. "Look, Oliver. This is risky - way too risky. We gotta keep moving."

  He shifted from one foot to another. But said nothing.

  "I get it. This must be groundbreaking. But we can see this - and anything you'd like - anytime. Just… not now."

  A few seconds passed. His silhouette nodded.

  …Whew.

  "Now," I split off from the crowd with Oliver in tow, "where'd you say that mage lady lived?"

  Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. Thankfully, Ansel had the foresight to scribble the address down before his passing. "Middle Layer, 122 Fletcher Lane."

  "That's up the next flight of stairs," I pointed ahead. "…We're so close."

  More apprehensive steps took us to a wide road that cut across the Layer. Crowds and streets and buildings passed 'til another staircase as tall as the last lifted us even closer to the clouds. Oliver took point at the top, navigating the streets with help from signposts I couldn't read.

  Westward, we continued. The walk was eerily quiet. Don't get me wrong, plenty of people in the residential streets talked and laughed. But we didn't say a word. Something was going unspoken. But I needed to keep going.

  We found it around noon; a two-story building nestled in a relatively secluded part of town. It leaned eccentrically over the roadside. A mercifully short number of steps rose to it's door - adorned in an elaborate knocker.

  I raised a tense hand to it. On the other side was my ticket to slotting in with the rest of the world. To never fearing the gaze of another ever again. With a spike of willpower I steadied trembling fingers and clutched the handle.

  A few knocks at first. We waited. Nothing. I knocked again, louder this time. Then put my earhole to the door.

  "Do you hear anything?" asked Oliver, his first words in long while.

  "Just silence, with a side of more silence."

  Except, was that a meow…?

  "It's almost as though she isn't home?" pondered an unfamiliar voice.

  Oliver and I spun around to find a feminine silhouette at the bottom of the stairs. The figure was confident. Young-looking. And it felt like her gaze pierced the hood hanging over my face.

  "So, might you explain your loitering in front of my home?" she laid a vexed hand on her hip, the other carrying a bag of goods. "Are you salesmen? Beggars? Pranksters? Regardless of which, I highly doubt our interests align. Especially if that get-up is how you choose to present yourself."

  "W-wait ma'am!" Oliver's palms shot up. "We're not none of those - we just want to, um… We wanted to know if you're Miss Cynthine? The glamour mage?

  The bag slipped from Cynthine's hands and hit the ground. She seemed stunned. Momentarily. Before stomping up the stairs toward Oliver.

  I stepped into her path.

  Cynthine casually invaded my space. "I don't take kindly to such outlandish claims, even from the mouths of children."

  "We're not children. Back off." My words were ice-cold. Unlike her, I was scared. But I was even angrier.

  She didn't budge. "Forget where you stand? This is my property, imbecile."

  "I-if you don't mind me saying, Miss Cynthine," Oliver interrupted, "you look pretty young yourself - in a good way! I thought you were in your twenties."

  Aggressive body language fizzled instantly. Cynthine stepped back, laying bashful fingers against her cheek. "You don't really mean that… do you dear?"

  Puzzled, I turned to Oliver. He nodded cautiously.

  By the time I looked back at Cynthine, she'd bumped past me to stand beside Oliver. "You know what, young man? I believe it wise we take this discussion inside. Afternoons here are a tad too warm for my liking."

  She casually pulled out a key. A little jostling and it opened; she entered, and left the door wide open for us.

  "…Oliver, this can't be the glamour mage. Right?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "This is where the address leads. Let's go in… I guess?"

  The hunter walked curiously inside. Unsure of what'd come next, I steeled myself, then delved into the home.

  A horde of shadows descended upon us the second I closed the door. I squeezed myself into the closest corner and prepared to kick and scream and maybe even beg a little.

  Then the nearest shadow leaned in to sniff my leg, gagged, then ran off with the rest somewhere deeper into the living room.

  "Afraid of my kitties?" Cynthine watched me slowly lower a terrified knee. "Not the bravest, are we?"

  She dropped her bag onto a distant kitchen table and pulled out a wine bottle. "I'd ask if you'd like a sip," she grabbed a nearby cup, "but hooded or not, something tells me you're hardly of age, kid."

  I knew her for all of a minute and already despised her. I should've told her off, corrected her that I was an adult - at least, I felt old enough to have a shading drink - but that'd be both suspicious and likely to make me sound even more like a brat.

  Besides, assuming this really was the glamour mage, I couldn't get on her bad side. Not 'til after she changed my appearance, at least. But before that, I needed to confirm something.

  "With the way you speak about kids," I said, "yours' must be a handful."

  Cynthine scoffed, carefully filling her cup. "That's quite the presumption. I don't have or want children; they waste your youth and always invent some way to bring trouble to your doorstep." She paused. "Thank you for reminding me that."

  Skell… punching people is wrong. Remember that…

  I faked a chuckle. "Your parents agree with that statement?"

  Cynthine took a satisfied sip from her glass. "Parents? I cannot even remember their face-"

  Suddenly her posture straightened. "…Why yes, I do live alone. That is what you're asking, is it not?"

  Shade! How'd she figure me out!

  "Hm." She took careful steps toward me. "You aren't any ordinary kid, are you?"

  If no one else lives here, she has to be the glamour mage. But if she's on guard, now what!?

  Oliver, who'd seemingly been enamored by the home's interior from the start, finally spoke. "This cat is adorable," he noted, petting one of the shadowy beasts. "What's his name?"

  "Oh," she waved a hand, laughing, "you're hilarious. That's a lady - her name is Maya. Usually she's jumpy; not once has she ever been so affable with a stranger."

  "Well, we're all animals, ain't we?" asked Oliver. "Maybe Maya and I are just more similar than we look."

  "Perhaps you're correct!" Cynthine agreed.

  …Maybe I should try calling her young too.

  "However," Cynthine's voice turned grave, "the fact of the matter is, you two came to my doorstep for something. But first, there is a topic we must discuss." She gestured to two nearby couches separated by a table. "Sit."

  Hearing that, I didn't know what to feel. On one hand, she obviously found me untrustworthy - and yet, didn't kick us out. I figured it was because of Oliver. Either him… or because she didn't see me as a threat.

  Though on the bright side, I'd finally found the glamour mage's home and narrowed them down to the woman in front of me. Ansel seemed to think we could persuade her, and once that was done, I'd be safe and sound.

  There was just that single hurdle.

  We took our seats. Oliver and I on one couch, Cynthine on the other. The woman sipped her wine, then spoke. "We'll dispense with the wisecracks, ploys, and small talk; this matter outweighs such things. Your earlier… accusation, to put a name to it. A reckless claim." She kicked one leg over the other. "Truly; you two must be disturbingly uninformed about glamours to speak such things around listening ears."

  "Yeah…" Oliver admitted. "We barely know the first thing about it."

  She reclined. "Good. It would be a pity for someone your age to be involved in illegal activity."

  "Illegal activity!?" I asked as Oliver leaned forward.

  "Hm. That's… distressing. What do they even teach in school these days?" Cynthine reached for her glass to take a much deeper swig.

  She clicked her tongue and continued. "Glamours are as illegal as arson and murder. Be discovered with an altered appearance? You'll see decades in prison. Spend your life practicing the craft and get caught? Execution. They will throw you through the courts and into the guillotine. Thus, announcing to the world that an innocent young lady - like myself - would ever dabble in such arts is a dangerous thing." Her voice lowered. "For all parties."

  "But… I need a glamour," I said.

  Jail time or execution didn't worry me; I was already trapped in this body and already dead. But I never considered that danger might reside on both ends of the transaction.

  The woman sat her drink on the table. "You need it, do you? I assume it has to do with what's hiding beneath that hood?"

  "…Yes," I admitted.

  Oliver and I spent long stretches of our trip brainstorming how we'd breach this subject. This was the perfect time. If I could tell her slowly and calmly, I suspected we could avoid the same reaction I got at Sienna. "If you'll just give me a minute to explain, it'll make-"

  "There's no need for your explanations," she interjected. "Not only do I not trust you, but a fool could see there's something amiss here. I intend to get to the base of it."

  Before either of us could react, Cynthine stood up in a flash and spun her hand back before jutting it toward me. "Gust!"

  Concentrated wind blasted into my face, forcing me against the couch. There was no pain. But as I got my bearings, I found a room without a hint of darkness and shadow. Instinctively I felt for the back of my hood.

  My fingers touched nothing but bone.

  The indigo-haired woman stiffened against her seat, eyes wide. "Y-you're… a skeleton!?"

  Art Breakdown:

  Hand of Decay (Mind Art)

  Rank - 5 (Adept)

  Classification - Offensive

  Element - Dark

  Description: Forming a potent necrotic energy in the wielders' preferred hand, this art can carve through all known materials, though the time required depends on both the material's durability and the user's skill.

  It is feared in many circles, as even those who survive its touch are permanently scarred, both in mind and body.

  Lasts indefinitely until deactivated.

  Windseeker (Hybrid Art)

  Rank - 3 (Journeyman)

  Classification: Offensive

  Element - Wind

  Description: A unique art melding mind and power magics, Windseeker draws in the surrounding wind, coating an arrow in green energy. After this preparation, the arrow can be shot as normal. However, its movement and speed can be intricately controlled by the mage's gestures, curving, stopping, and bursting forward on a dime - all at the mage's whim.

  Additionally, the coat of wind amplifies the arrow's sharpness, bestowing enough force to puncture steel at full speed.