The uniforms were ill-fitting, heavy black cloth draping over Jasper’s body at awkward angles, making him look rather like a box than a man. He looked over in the mirror, at his right leather boot that leaned back a little too far to be held up by bone. It was obvious - to him at least - that he wasn’t of the Umbral Order, but Eldrin disageed.
Worst of all, his hair was tied away, concealed under the hood of a black cloak and a featureless, white mask. He left the mask off as he scrutinized the Order’s fashion choices, barely noticing when Eldrin emerged looking rather pale, a similar cloak billowing behind him as if it had been made for him. His expression was distant as he closed the door, leaning against it with a shuddering breath.
They were dressed as the Order’s common soldiers, ones without something lurking in the shadows behind their ribs, but Eldrin looked as though he should have been at the top. He had shown Jasper his old mask once, startlingly different from the ones made for the soldiers. His cloak had not been of cheap cloth but of sturdy finery, strong enough to withstand a fight but elegant enough to tell everyone that people like Eldrin - the seruses, the ones that were watched with weary eyes even inside the cult - were the ones that mattered. They were the ones who weren’t disposable in a fight.
Jasper knew the role of being just another body in the fields, buried in nameless graves lest the seruses tear the corpses apart, only to be forgotten weeks later. In a way, he almost sympathized with those people in the Order, wondering if it had been their choice at all. Many thought that the human seruses chose to become monsters, but Eldrin had been just a boy manipulated into ideas of grandeur, unable to decline even if he had wanted to. Armies are the same on either side - innocents waiting for the caress of their master and instead finding the cold touch of death.
“You’re quiet,” Eldrin said, his voice flat and unsteady. He stared into the air as he spoke, looking over at the black gloves on his hands, at the makeup disguising the scar on his cheek in the event he lost the mask. He didn’t recognize himself anymore, after spending so long learning who he was and who Kharis was not. It was all rushing back to him and it took everything he had to focus on Jasper.
“Am I?” Jasper asked with a hint of a laugh. “I’m just nervous. You’re the one who looks like he might collapse at any moment. Are you sure you’re alright? Even Kylantha was hesitant to request this of you.”
“I don’t think Soleki cares about the mental health of a traitor,” he said, the words a little sharper than he intended. It was not why Jasper flinched, though.
“Don’t call him that,” Jasper pleaded with a shiver. “It’s - It feels like bad luck to not call him the Shadowmaker.”
Eldrin huffed, ready to rekindle the same argument they’ve already had, strapping the scythe Theodora had made for him. It was not his normal scythe for that one had been obviously from the Order - anyone within could tell that it was crafted by one of their own. This scythe was simple, and had been Theodora’s midterm project, though it was already better than half of the ones he had seen on the market.
“He’s not the Shadowmaker. He didn’t invent shadows. Calling him some dramatic title just immortalizes him, when he’s just an idiot with magic.” Eldrin looked in the hallway mirror as he handed Jasper his sword, a little envious that Jasper didn’t have to take so many extra precautions to conceal himself. For a moment he saw the visions of an ancient elf in his place, the same visions he and Lillian and the others shared during their Turning. He just never realized it was Soleki until he was freed. “All he is - all he’ll ever be - is a man.”
“He changed the world.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Eldrin looked at him, challenging him as the lights flickered. A wilder part of him always grew anxious at the thought of Soleki, eager to meet him. The Order had gotten so strong by believing in a god that didn’t exist - a pretend god that could be killed. He couldn’t stand to hear Jasper speak that same fear, raised with the same terror as everyone else. “Call him by his name. Call him Soleki. We aren’t scouting out for a risen deity - we’re looking for a man the cult wants to be untouchable. And we can’t win if we’re afraid of him.”
Jasper did not respond, taking the sword and hoping that he did not have to use it unless it was for Soleki. The two of them could not win against an entire cult, and Kylantha had made it clear that this was to be a stealth mission - unless they could get a strike in without getting themselves killed.
Jasper had gotten the distinct impression that, even without admitting it, she would have preferred them dead than Soleki alive, but the Guardians would have never approved of the loss of two of the Academy’s best professors over something that could be avoided. Soleki could be killed later, with an army and with the chance of living.
The chance felt minimal, but it was better than certain death. He didn’t want to imagine how the Order would have torn them apart so quickly, a mania driven by grief, blood spilled in an episode of madness.
They left the hotel room just before midnight, and while Jasper was certain that they would stick out, Eldrin had evidently chosen the perfect night for the mission. The streets were filled with people in cloaks - few were black, but many were matched with elegant gowns and suits.
“Why is everyone so fancy?” Jasper asked, fighting the urge to grab Eldrin’s hand nervously. He realized that anyone could be in the Order, watching them, waiting for them to act out of character. The members were trained for stealth, for waiting instead of acting - the exact opposite of what the army had taught Jasper.
“We’re in the upper district,” Eldrin explained, shuddering a little as a girl with white and black hair passed them, wearing a long, clingy dress. “The Urashinean Society holds gatherings monthly - usually in the form of formal balls. I chose tonight so we could blend in.”
He shouldn’t have been surprised that Eldrin had planned every single detail, for getting caught would mean two things - certain death for Jasper, but likely torture or reintegration for Eldrin. It was something neither of them wanted to think about, and Kylantha had forced Eldrin to think about it day and night for the past week.
He took Jasper out of the city through a city of alleys, all marked curiously with a faint eye carved into the corner of each one. It would have been unnoticeable to anyone without a serus’s nocturnal vision, and that was the point. Jasper wanted to ask if they were lost after the sixth alley seemingly leading nowhere, and then suddenly the city was gone, a cliff face where the massive fences had been. No one was ever meant to be on this side of Urashina’s walls - that much was evident by the faint claw markings on the silver fence.
“Look down,” Eldrin commanded, his voice strangely soft. Jasper really did not want to look down at whatever he was seeing, feeling the cold wind on his face, already stricken with vertigo at being so close to the edge.
He trusted him, though, so he dared to look, his eyes widening at the sight of a faint hole in the ground - an unmistakable cave.
“There’s only one way out once we go in. If you have any reservations, now would be the time to proclaim it.” Eldrin released a breath, tightening his grip on Jasper’s hand.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re going to jump.”
For a moment, Jasper was convinced he was joking, and so he did little more than shake his head at him in disbelief. Eldrin merely stared at him, pale grey eyes against the black new moon startling him. He was serious.
“We’ll die!” Jasper exclaimed, fighting the urge to argue when Eldrin shushed him.
“Do you remember how Elana’s group described the gateway to Soleki’s hideout?” Eldrin asked. “It was a portal - a spell activated by a catchphrase. This is what the cave is. A member of the Order says the phrase and jumps, but anyone who follows will-”
“Please don’t describe it,” Jasper pleaded. “Just - just tell me the phrase so I can piss myself and move on.”
Eldrin tensed, suddenly hesitant as he realized that he was on the threshold of the Order’s territory, back in their clothing and in the heart of Ereachia. It was all what he had promised to never relive. He never even spoke Ereachian anymore unless a student desperately struggled with other languages, and even then it sent waves of anxiety through him.
A hand found its way into his hair, stroking behind his ear. “Hey.” Jasper was looking at him softly, his brows furrowed with worry. He pulled him into a quick kiss, silencing all of his worries at once. “This doesn’t mean you’re theirs. None of it does.”
A thousand confessions wormed their way into Eldrin’s brain at the sight of Jasper’s kind smile, but he forced it all down to say, “The phrase - it’s Ereachian. Tende sub aspectum lucis, intra umbram solve.”
“What does that mean?” Jasper asked, trying and failing to remember most of the translation.
“Strain under the gaze of the light, release shadow within.”
Something whirred to life from beneath, a faint purple glow illuminating the rocky cliff face. The entrance to the cave now swirled with the pale light of an ancient magic that should have died with its accursed creator. Jasper had the horrible fear of the portal fading just as he would jump, vanishing and leaving him smashed against the jagged rocks.
He must have been obvious about it, because Eldrin now pulled him in, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. “It won’t disappear until I’m in. Jump with me.”
“I could fall,” Jasper said, his voice hitching in terror.
“I won’t let you.”
Jasper gripped him tight, wrapping his arms around his waist until there was nothing more to grab, and then Eldrin was tipping off of the side of the cliff, muffling Jasper into his cloak as he held him. He was certain he was screaming as they fell into the air, but Eldrin never let go of him - not once.
There was the sickening wave of dizziness that always came with interacting with magic as they hit the portal. Jasper thought it felt more like warm bath water than magic. Their feet hit soft moss, falling slowly from the now-closed portal. Eldrin released Jasper despite the way his legs were trembling, hoping that he didn’t just fall over the instant he was freed.
He wanted to stay, to comfort Jasper, but he knew the moon was nearly overhead and when it was, when the night was at its peak, that they would have to present for the ceremony. “We have to hurry,” Eldrin said. “At this point, we have to act like we barely know each other. Like guards.”
He hesitated, to which Jasper noticed instantly in the way he fiddled with his mask, his dark brows furrowed. “There’s something bothering you - more than the fact that we’re in cult territory, I mean.”
“What we’re going to see - it’s - it may be too much for you. It’s a Turning Ceremony. It’s usually violent even when it works, but Kylantha and I thought it would be the best time for Soleki to be out.”
“I can handle it. Whatever it’s like, I won’t be afraid.” Jasper was pretty sure that he was lying, but they didn’t have time to argue. Eldrin gave him a long look of a thousand things still unsaid, and then they were walking in a line down the unmarked forest. There was a faint path winding through it, marked only by the few other people that even knew the forest existed.
Eventually, they came through the trees into an impossibly large field, the dry grass blowing with the gentle wind in a way that should’ve been peaceful. Jasper could see buildings from afar, militaristic in style but all painted black. It was a mockery of the white buildings of the Guardians, almost purposeful.
Eldrin took him to a large canopy in the center of the field, surrounded by people all in black, though the only masked ones stayed in the back. They were circling a large, stone slab, shaped as if it were a primordial medical bed.
The blood stains, mingled with black, made Jasper shudder, for there was so much that even the grass outside the canopy had splatters of blood. There was nothing but violence in the air, haunting the field and poisoning every single person there with its madness. He tried to focus on what Eldrin had told him before they arrived - don’t speak at all, don’t lower the mask, and if anyone asks questions, wait for Eldrin. He realized that was why Eldrin’s disguise was slightly different - he was supposed to be in a higher position.
No one spoke for what felt like an hour until someone with a large, curved knife stepped forward, the blade glinting black. “If our Lord is ready, the Turning will begin. Bring the volunteer.”
‘Volunteer’ was a bold word to use, because refusing the Shadowmaker’s self-proclaimed gift was an act of treason. Eldrin told him once about a boy who got tortured to death for trying to refuse. He had eventually been brought in shackles and killed - though he wouldn’t say how. Jasper didn’t think he wanted to know.
“Of course I’m ready.”
The voice came from too close, making both of them tense with the realization that it was him. As discreetly and as desperately as possible, they searched the crowd until they spotted him, Eldrin’s hands shaking the entire time.
Soleki stood by the leader of the Order, his hair down to his waist and free from its signature ponytail, his nails and eyelids darkened with either makeup or magic. He no longer wore the purple robes he had first attacked the Academy in, but rather, was wearing an entirely black robe, the sleeves swooping dramatically. He looked like he had always belonged with the Order, looking like everything Eldrin had been expected to be.
A boy came forth nervously, his skin sheet white with sweat and fear. There was no confidence in his walk as he seemed to avoid Soleki’s gaze, approaching the slab and removing his shirt.
“Lay down,” the leader commanded. The boy seemed to stare at the knife longer than necessary, to which a girl impatiently snarled at him.
“Do you insult the Shadowmaker?” She snapped. Her hair was pulled back into an oddly familiar bun, the white streak in her hair all too natural. The slight gasp Eldrin couldn’t hide told Jasper exactly who it was, especially when black markings formed on her cheekbones, her eyes white.
“Oh, please,” Soleki said, his nails finding her hair as if she were little more than a pet to him. “Your savior can fend for himself. I’ll choose to believe the boy is merely nervous.”
“Cowardice doesn’t belong with us,” Lillian snapped, though her eyes still fluttered shut at his touch.
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