“I let Kyrik in earlier.” Jirmen said with small hesitation.
After Kyrik let slip they had an alien in the medical ward, Jirmen had him warp there to launch investigation. The alien took the form of a dragon, but underneath the flesh and scales was a different vascular system. One heart as opposed to two. Yet there were no deformities as a result of this. Outside the injuries sustained in the crash landing, she – as Jirmen identified – was healthy.
Still, he had her moved to a private room in case she became a threat like the Seraphim were. Kyrik was sent off to his study to prepare for training in the morning, whereas Methir and Jirmen were left alone with the unknown dragon.
“Did you?” Methir asked with interest.
“He followed me to the detention center.” Jirmen leaned against the wall. “I wanted to keep him out, but he would’ve done something far more reckless if I had.”
“So, that’s where he went.” Methir shook her head. “I knew he was lying, but I didn’t want him to start poking our guest.”
“His powers reacted to the prisoners.” Jirmen said grimly. “He felt their lifeforce. Their negativity. I had to give him the Vizier’s Eye, and even still the reaper still influenced.”
When he told Methir what transpired, concern grew along her purple face. She paced, remaining silent for an extended period, eyes firmly locked on the ground.
“Well, at least we have some sort of lead.” Methir said with ghostly humor. “And we know more about his other side. It’s always just been a presence, but if it is growing active…well, do you think it’s possible it already figured out what’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” Jirmen admitted. “And even if it did, I do not want it to wake up.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that.”
“I know, but nevertheless I am concerned of how it’ll affect Kyrik.” Jirmen lightly tapped the butt of his staff on the ground in thought.
“I’ll monitor him, don’t you worry.” Methir said brightly. “Still, I’m glad you taught him the eye. I just hope he remembers to summon it.”
“Given how distracted he gets, I have my doubts.” Jirmen turned his attention to the sleeping alien. “But, we need to discuss what happens when she wakes up.”
“I’m reluctant to do so.” Methir followed his gaze. “I know your apprehension after what Ephiral did to your race. However, I don’t think she is anywhere near as powerful, and going in expecting another Seraph is unhealthy. Remember, I was there; I saw what one of Ephiral’s heralds did, and I don’t sense anything close to that power in her.”
“I meant more along the lines of if she isn’t a threat.” Jirmen clarified. “We know absolutely nothing. What if she cannot eat or drink anything on this planet? What other accommodations must we consider? That is not getting into how we will return her to her race.”
“Did Kyrik tell you how she seemed to develop the draconic shape after crashing?” Methir asked. Jirmen shook his head. “My personal hypothesize is that she may not have had a true form, but changed upon sight of Kyrik, as he was the closest to her at the time. Perhaps she adapted biologically as well? Outside the one heart, anyway.”
“I suppose we will find out when she awakens.” Jirmen held his staff over her to check vitals. “I suspect she will awaken soon, though. Her body is reacting positively to the treatments.”
“I’ll watch her.” Methir said. “I suspect you’ll need to tell the family of the deceased, if you haven’t already.”
“One of the Warlocks should have already, but I should visit the family.” Jirmen eyed the unconscious dragon again. “Alert me when she awakens.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
Kyrik refused to study.
How in the world did Methir expect him to do such a thing at such a time? A murder! In Falmari! The safest place Kyrik had ever been, now tainted.
The instant he got to his study, he slammed the door shut and locked it with a ward. Last thing he needed was Methir or Jirmen to walk in on him trying to piece everything together behind their backs. Telling him not to worry about it or otherwise patronizing. He knew they cared, but it was still annoying.
Kyrik’s study was akin to a miniature library. Medium-sized, the walls lined with books upon books in shelves. Usually, he took great care in keeping it clean, but in his mad dash to get paper and other tools, he knocked a few things over. Conjuring winds, he utilized them clear an area near the beige walls, where he placed a blank paper and started drawing Tarith while making various lines connecting to his portrait.
The bone lodged in his spine was what threw Kyrik off the most. He wasn’t allowed to take it, being evidence and all, but the ability to trap a spirit within their own body…Kyrik himself didn’t know how to do it. Such an act was forbidden to be taught, even in the Sect of the Damned. Although, one did have the leaders held the title ‘Soulbinder’, but he doubted she would travel all the way here to kill someone at random.
Most of the necromantic and dark arts students left around the murder to go on some sort of study trip. Not that Kyrik could run up and start asking questions. Although, that didn’t mean he couldn’t sneak in and investigate.
But, there were next to no Shrikian students in the arts. None of them could’ve been present around the time, and the one instructor was already at the departing portal.
Nothing connected, yet Kyrik couldn’t shake the feeling they were. If the way his other side was stirring was any indication, it felt the same. The question is how.
Absently, he wrote the word ‘Alien’ and circled it with a ‘?’. There wasn’t a plausible way for her to be the killer, as she arrived after, but she might have a connection. A reach, he was certain, but he had to assess all the clues.
Tapping his pencil against his mask in thought, Kyrik must’ve eyed everything a dozen times. He was missing something vital. What, he didn’t know. But it was right in front of him, of that he was certain.
“We don’t know much about you do we, Tarith?” Kyrik muttered to himself. “No enemies, kept to yourself…but someone targeted you. This couldn’t be random. It can’t be random.”
Kyrik thought of the ‘arch rival’ but didn’t know where to start looking. The parents didn’t need him pestering and Jirmen likely already took care of that.
At a loss, Kyrik slumped onto the ground, not knowing what to do.