Witherwing moved at a pace that Kyrik struggled to keep up with. It wasn’t too fast nor too slow, but it was in the awkward place where he’d waste more energy over walking or running. Kyrik wanted to say something about it, but it would do little good.

Thankfully, Witherwing stated that they were close. It was when Kyrik started to feel tired, too. The relocation thing must want him to get some exercise in. He had been neglecting his morning flights lately; maybe this was the world’s way of telling him to get back into it.

Wait, why would it promote flying if he was walking?

Regardless, Kyrik’s jaw dropped slightly when he saw his room. It was like an expensive inn – no, better! Drapes and tapestries hung, made of fine silk. His claws sank into the carpet, the feeling between his talons unreal. The bedding itself, he was afraid he would sink into it! On one of the posts, a brown satchel hung; no doubt they expected him to wander regardless.

“I take it that it is to your liking?” Witherwing asked, amused.

“I’d never seen anything like it.” Kyrik answered after a moment, moving to the window. The sun was almost set, the twin moons – Suri and Sacha - emerging from beyond the mountains. The castle was hidden away in a valley that lead into an ocean, locked behind magical wards that would obscure it from prying eyes.

Kyrik found this place completely by accident. The wards didn’t exactly work on him, being a reaper, and he just assumed it was a regular abandoned castle.

He was so very wrong.

“Do you wish for anything before I go?”” Kyrik was asked.

“I honestly can’t think of anything right now.” The young reaper continued to stand in awe.

“Very good,” Witherwing left a small bell on a nearby table. “Should you require me, simply ring the bell. I will hear it no matter where I am.”

Before Kyrik could ask how that worked, Witherwing continued.

“I must warn you,” he spoke gravely, “that while you are under my queen’s protection, there are some who may act hostile toward you. I know you will not die; not truly. But you must take caution, for while violence is forbidden, some may create ‘accidents’. I would hate for you to Reincarnate here.”

Kyrik scowled slightly. “Why would they do that?”

“They have their own reasons, but for those already dead, they may assume you are here to send them off. However,” Witherwing smiled, “you have managed to break the ice around my queen’s hearts slightly. I’m sure you can placate them.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. Kyrik had half a mind to turn everything over to search for him, but this was not the first nor would it be the last time he did that. Just what was he? It was driving him mad!

Kyrik sat down with a huff. He should probably send word that he was staying here. No doubt he would be searched for – especially since he never mentioned coming here. It’s not like he couldn’t leave, though, but he didn’t want to blow off the…alliance he had here. Was alliance the right term? Something like that.

Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind. His mind brushed against another’s, and a connection was established.

“Where were you?” An older, masculine voice asked. An ancient wisdom accented the speaker as well. “Did you fall into another cavern?”

“Does being in Azulia’s castle count?” Kyrik replied. Silence. “Jirmen?”

“I have half a mind to send Kali to drag you back. What are you doing there? You know it’s dangerous to go alone.”

“…You know why I went back.” He shifted his eyes. Not that he needed to.

“I do,” Jirmen’s tone was softer. “But you should have told us. How long will you be there?”

“She’s insisting I stay overnight.”

“Why?”

“She was kinda vague on it. But it’s okay, I wanted to see how stuff worked here anyway.”

“You’re not staying alone. I’m having Kali join you once she gets back. Whatever argument you two had can be put aside for this. I’d come with but you know what happened the last time I left Falmari so I’ll be a bit.”

Kyrik did. “Alright…but the place has changed again. I don’t know where she’ll wind up but I’ll let Azulia know.”

“Actually, it might be better for you to go to meet her without telling anyone.” He said flatly.

“Why? She hasn’t been hostile to us. And without her, we may not have…” Kyrik stopped himself, throat closing. Only when he swallowed the words could he breathe again.

“I know, but you haven’t had the experiences I have. I’ve said enough on the matter for now and for all we know, she’s listening to us. Somehow. I wouldn’t put it past her to have ways of doing so.”

With that, the connection was severed. No doubt he expected Kyrik to contact the moment he rediscovered his portal. Opening a new one would likely draw attention, and since everyone was up in claws about it, he decided against it. Plus, exploring!

And yet he sat there, looking at the stars for a moment. He was bristling with energy, but he never moved. His mind drew a blank. No images flickered past. Just…nothingness.

Not three seconds later, his body restarted, and he exited his quarters and ventured off to the left like nothing happened. It wasn’t like he could go back the way he came, anyway. And besides, this was happening daily, and he hadn’t a clue why. It wasn’t his brain shutting down. It was only…stalling. The quicker he did what he needed, the less he’d stall.

This led him to a…actually, he didn’t know what it was. Two minutes in and he was already lost; a new record! It looked like some sort of hovel or den, with voices carrying over the sound of bubbling water. In the distance, he noted some sort of green sludge. From where he stood, it smelled quite vile; likely some sort of potion. Either that or some sort of food.

Maybe neither?

A lot of undead in this area, too. They scuttled around, stitched together or falling apart. Kyrik didn’t want to presume they were horrors. He’d met quite a few nice ones after all. Their necromancer masters weren’t always evil either, instead using their powers to fight back against those who were. Fight fire with fire, they say.

Kyrik could consider himself to be a necromancer now that he thought about it. He’d blend in perfectly!

When he walked further in, a dragon looked at him. She was sickly in shape, with a notable hunch. Some parts of her blue body were taut and appeared to be rotting. Her one blind eye focused on him with such intensity that Kyrik suspected she could see from it. The other, a dulled green, remained focused on her task.

The tent, which Kyrik presumed to be her home, held a banner written in green text around a skull. It was the symbol representing the Sect of the Damned, a policing force in the necromantic arts. Similar to how Falmari was a place for magic users, necromancers had a similar place known as the Necropolis. Unlike Falmari, there were three leaders; Talrath the Creator, Magthra the Soulbinder, and Lichlord Zarenus.

Kyrik always wanted to visit it one day, but Jirmen always forbid it for whatever reason. The necromantic arts at Falmari were heavily restricted, and as a result, Kyrik felt stifled in his growth.

“You the new one?” The necromancer snapped.

“New what?” Kyrik raised an eyeridge.

“I was told we had another necromancer to join our coven,” she tilted her head. “You have the breath of death upon you, whelp. Only those in our work have it.”

He wanted to object to this but remembered Witherwing’s statement. “Oh. Well, I wasn’t informed there was one here. I am just staying the night.”

She sighed in disappointment. “Dammit. I could have used some help.” She peered at him. “Do you mind, actually? I need some help perfecting a brew.”

“You’ve been working on that all day!” A shrill voice came from beyond his vision. “Give it a rest you old wyrm!”

“Quiet!” The necromancer snapped. “Perfection is not swift, Percious!”

“Nor is it this slow, Valir!”

“Should I just,” Kyrik stepped away slightly, “leave you two?”

“Ignore him,” Valir rolled her eyes. “Ever since his spirit had been severed from his body he’s been cranky.”

“Is this common?”

“Unfortunately.” She gestured for him to follow. Before them, a large cauldron with pale bubbling liquid churned inside. Kyrik stared at it, able to separate the various essences and the like. Perks of being a reaper. She was certainly on the right track, but lacked a crucial ingredient; Death Bloom. Hard to find in areas like this, so he couldn’t blame her for forgetting this.

What was she trying to make here?

“Oh, I need it to get him back,” Valir explained casually when asked, “He’s being passive-aggressive again. He’ll say to stop but he wants me to continue.”

“You’re missing Death Bloom.” Kyrik said.

She peered at him. “How did you know?”

Oh, dammit.

“Is it that important?” Kyrik tried to deflect it.

Her eyes narrowed even further before they moved to his necklace. A flicker of recognition crossed her muzzle. “Oh, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Don’t be daft with me; I know what you are.” Valir snapped. “No wonder why I mistook you to be a necromancer.”

“Erm…”

“I thought your kind disappeared.” She continued as if he never spoke. “Although, you seem a bit…different. Still, I would keep that necklace hidden if you don’t want others to know what you are. I’m surprised the queen hasn’t killed you on sight, but if she aren’t here to cause trouble, I won’t tell her. Last thing we need is her or Lei popping down here again.”

Kyrik frowned slightly. He never really had to do so in the outside world. Then again, many seemed to be drawn to his skull mask first. The questions he got. The requests he received to take it off – which will never happen – and the like.

Unlike the mask, the necklace radiated power. It wasn’t something that most could detect, but as he had just found out, it could be used as an identification. He could conjure a shroud to keep it hidden but that would just create more problems. With a reluctant sigh, he took it off and placed it into his satchel. At least he wouldn’t be conscious of its existence; wearing jewelry and whatnot always made his scales itch.

“Do you have no other means of hiding it?” Valir asked bluntly. He shook his head. “How has nobody found you out yet?”

“Azulia knows.”

“She knows everything, so that’s not surprising. You not being struck down, on the other claw…” She had a thoughtful expression. “I don’t suppose you could use your powers this one time to bring him back?”

Kyrik could have just yanked the soul back to the body, but agreed to help finish the potion instead. The less flashy, the better. Valir didn't object if she had any disappointment. Besides, something like this was easy to do. Away from prying eyes, Kyrik dipped a talon into the liquid. It turned white immediately, growing calm as a lake. He withdrew the talon, wiping away the slime that had leaped onto him.

“Ah, that’s perfect.” Valir sampled it. Kyrik raised an eyeridge. “Yes, this will work. My thanks to you….I never got your name.”

“Kyrik.”

“Kyrik, yes.” She poured some of the liquid into a vial. “Well, if you are going to try and pass as a necromancer, you could at least look the part.”

“Define.” Kyrik glanced at the seemingly rotting parts of her again.

“You have the mask; you need a cloak now.”

Before Kyrik could react, a forest green cloak was thrown at his head. He didn’t have time to catch it and it caught in his horns, draping on his face. He walked backwards slightly, trying to shake it off, and eventually succeeded in doing so. It was kind of musty, but otherwise kept clean. Some wear and tear, but it helped sell the look.

Too big, Kyrik thought as he put it on. The hood would fall over his face, and part of the cloak would drag on the floor. A blanket would be the better term for it; felt as heavy as one.

“Don’t trip,” Valir watched with mild amusement.

“Trip!” Percious suddenly shouted.

“Shut up, will you?”