“I don’t?” Astil ends up saying in barely concealed surprise.

His question stumps her.

Was this a new development then? How was that even possible? Somewhere deep in her mind, Fionera was intrigued. This sort of thing was entirely unheard of in the whole of history! 

But—Fionera suddenly pauses unsurely. But.. no, it wasn’t. 

You see, Fionera had grown up listening to various kinds of folklore that used to give her endless nightmares as a child. There was a creature repeatedly spoken of, a cursed being that had wondered too far from home, only to wake up to a starless sky with a still heart and a body void of magic. They had become a creature of the night that endlessly lusted for mindless slaughter and blood; the latter of which it used to sustain its unliving body. 

A younger Fionera had grown up afraid of the dark forests surrounding her village—of the moon when it shone round and full in the sky because that meant she no longer had the protection of the sun.

Those were just folktales though, right? To make sure the younger generation didn’t stray too far, and committed to a safe curfew without the need for it to be enforced.

.. Right?

Ahh, forget it! Fionera forcefully shook off the numbing cold that crept up her spine.

If he didn’t have any magic, then there was no way for her to key in his signature for the pathway to recognise and accept his transportation. What she’d have to do instead is trick the energy into thinking it was her that was travelling. This meant that Fionera couldn’t then travel at the same time as him — which suits her just fine, because now that they’re here, she didn’t plan on going anywhere further with him.

If whoever was after Astil still hadn’t come upon them when there were scarily little obstacles between their two opposing sides, then she was rather confident that she could pull off sending him on his way, and have enough time to spare for her to go blend in with the partygoers who were still going strong if the continuous thudding music was any indication.

Fionera abruptly let go of his wrist. With a dangerous ‘fuck it’ kind of mentality, she caressly flung either hand onto each side of what could no longer be called a “door”. 

Pulse after pulse of her magic was sent directly into the Script that had shown itself in a haphazard shot at speeding up the process. The rune was already fully activated at this point, so the most such an addition could do was enlarge its area of effect.

Immediately the words become incorrigible. Gravity seems to take hold and they’re pulled inwards until they’ve disappeared completely. 

Eventually the pathway stills.

With a heavy wheeze, Fionera yanks her hands away, which effectively cuts the formed portal off from her magic. Being connected to the rune as it weaved a spatial tunnel out of her magic was one hell of a ride.

“Fionera! Are you well?” Cold hands gripped her shoulders. 

Astil.

She shrugged him off and stepped aside. Still now her ears rang, but she didn’t forget to draw a line between them. She didn’t need him worrying about her—they were barely acquaintances and she preferred it stay that way.

Astil drops his hands at her unexpected coldness. He lightly clenches his teeth and slowly steps forward. However, not moments later he stops again, just shy of the path’s entrance. 

The force of it tugged at his tattered clothing and pulled it into its swirling mass but he remained unbothered.

“Thank you,” he says, and finds that he means it.

“It was no problem, your highness!” Fionera quickly replied and then proceeded to bow as she proclaimed, “May your light shine as one with the King, and your travels remain safe!” For probably the first time since their meeting, she had treated him with all the respect and honour one should when speaking to royalty.

Still in a bow, Fionera genuinely smiled at the floor. Finally… Finally..! She had finally rid herself of this ticking time bomb that was Astilon Von Rougeir!

A moment passes. Then two, and three.

“Rise.” He commanded, and then said no more. 

Fionera didn’t even hear him move—which surely couldn’t be right? She straightens from her bow rather unsuredly and peeks at him. Contrary to what she’d thought, Astil hadn’t done the sensible thing and thrown himself through the portal. 

Huh, Fionera couldn’t help but narrow her eyes in suspicion. By coincidence the two of them make eye contact. 

A rock sinks into the pit of her stomach at his unreadable gaze; cold sweat gathers at the back of her neck. 

Instinct. And yet even though she was already on high alert, Fionera never expected him to reach out a pale hand to grip her wrist. He was slow, shakey; but perhaps it’s because she didn’t see him as a threat that he’d been able to bypass an instinctive reaction.

“What are you doing.” She blankly stares at his fingers. To test his grip, she lightly pulled her arm back. However, when his fingers didn’t loosen any, her brain had almost shut all the way down as she tried to make sense of what he was trying to do. 

Was she really going to have to fight him? 

Here? Now? The irony wasn’t lost on her, however. Just earlier Fionera had done practically the same thing to him. She at least had a reason to do so, but he.. didn’t really, right?

Unless..

No, she thought with a dawning, sudden sense of horror, he isn’t—!

Astil's lips twitch into a smile as he watches her face morph into a series of different expressions. It was quite entertaining, even more so refreshing to see someone wear their truth so clearly. 

At this very moment, Fionera comes to a realization of 3 things, all pertaining to this companion of hers.

1. That despite his lack of magic he had held an item without it being visually seen, which meant it was in neither of his hands; this “item” being her lamp.

2. Whatever aforementioned ability it was, was most likely linked to his bizarre intermittent show of unnatural strength and perseverance, so much so that it helped him get the drop on her.

“Who said this was goodbye?” He quietly said amongst her running thoughts. With a strong tug that surprised the both of them, Fionera stumbled into his side.

Son of a bitch! She almost bites her tongue being caught off guard. Her eyes widen almost comically as she stares down at her feet in disbelief (and perhaps betrayal).

Which brings us to: 3. The reasoning for Astil’s bizarre sequence of actions suddenly becomes clear to her—but it’s too late.

Fionera ends up clearing too much of the portal's entrance to back away now, and so colourful expletives violently fall from her lips the moment the spatial pathway closes around them both, swallowing whatever protests she makes.

Not a single breath later, a group of hooded individuals swarm into this damp, dark corner of the hallway. Various pieces of their clothing were either ripped or had visible burn marks. Their forces were already small, but now seeing all members present—they could pathetically be counted on one hand.

The corridor’s new inhabitants all freeze when they realise their target is nowhere to be seen. 

“.. We were too late,” one of them states as if it wasn’t already obvious to everyone present. Still frozen, a few of them can’t help but tense up, angrily gripping their unsheathed weapons at the meaning of this useless statement.

Not only had they been dealt irrevocable damage by their target—but they hadn’t even managed to successfully capture them...!

What a blow to their pride this was!

Ignoring the reactions of their subordinates, the apparent leader of this group takes big strides back the way they came and orders the rest of them to follow with a swift wave of their hand.

“Move! Report back to…”

Staring at their backs, Peter wonders if he did the right thing by letting them go without digging deeper into their business. Sure, his and Fionera’s friendship was built on them respecting one another’s boundaries— but a true friend discarded this if they thought the other to be in any sort of danger, right? And rather than standing around doing nothing but worry, wouldn’t it be better for him to at least report what he’d seen? 

So be it out of genuine concern, growing jealousy or something entirely else; Peter turns away from the vicinity of the party and instead heads towards the steps leaving the basement.

This proves to be a fatal mistake as the moment he reaches the top step — an explosion occurs. Peter, caught entirely off guard and with alcohol already in his system, gets swept up in its blast radius. 

He’s unconscious before his body even hits the floor.

By pure luck this is the only thing that saves him from the wrath of the forces that sweep past his prone form.

[PRESENT]

Blindly, the “criminal” pair stumble out of the tunnel. Astil seems to quickly reorientate himself, but Fionera continues to wobble on her feet. Even when she finally blinks the dizziness from her eyes, her steps are still shaky and she lets out a quiet oof upon colliding with something in front of her. 

Astil’s grip on her disappears the moment he steps away from her — and suddenly she realises that what she’d bumped into earlier had been his back.

Hastily shaking her head to clear her vision, Fionera then moves faster than the eye can track as she turns back around to hazardly throw out a decent amount of her magic at the portal entrance. 

Instantly it caves in on itself and begins shooting out bolts of what appears to be electricity. The bolts struck all that it came into contact with, leaving scorch marks and a burnt smell in its wake. The phenomenon even managed to set alight a small desk that was in the room, but a quick kick and stomp was enough to both break the wood apart and douse the fire. 

Singed bits of paper were left to float and land on random bits of the floor. 

Honestly, Fionera couldn’t care less about the mess it made. She was more worried about the collapsing of the tunnel than the inevitable fallout. It would be best if it just disappeared as quickly as possible so as to not be tracked. 

And she did mean tracked and not “followed”. 

There was actually no way for anyone not keyed in to come through, but people on the other side could just as easily deconstruct the Runic Script on the door to determine where whoever had walked the constructed pathway had ended up. Overloading it with her magic was the most efficient way to collapse the whole system, and as the path tended to be sensitive after someone had just travelled through it, this was the prime time to do so. 

The consequence of this meant effectively destroying a good few months worth of work, but rather than that, Fionera hoped it took all evidence of its entire existence along with its demise. 

Even if this did seem a bit extreme when there wasn’t even a Mage amongst them to act as a “translator”, it was better safe than sorry.

At least that’s what Fionera had convinced herself of as she half bent over on her knees and let out a wheezy breath. All the while her uninvited guest had made himself at home by taking a seat at the humble table place in front of the window. 

Fionera practically sneered at him from beneath her lashes; green eyes sharp and simmering with anger.

What a useless guy!

“You really have led me to a whorehouse.” Astil even has the complete cheek to comment once the crackling completely dies off — as if she wasn’t already contemplating his murder. It wouldn’t even be hard. He was pretty much defenseless and his condition made it so he already had one foot in the coffin. 

Practically at peak condition, all Fionera would have to do is sneeze in his direction and he would keel over.

“Ms. Fionera?”

Oh. Wasn’t used to being ignored, that one. 

Wordlessly, she rolls her eyes at his affronted tone. Fionera only managed to push aside her thoughts of murder once she reminded herself of the amount of hassle that came after the fact. Shit, killing a Royal was a messy business on a good day, and a terrible mistake involving the slaughtering of your entire bloodline on a bad one. 

Still. Even if she did snap and kill him—Fionera doubts “their” pursuers would feel any kind of gratitude towards her. She did blow them up, after all.

Tragedy awaiting her aside, the place they’d ended up in wasn’t exactly… ideal. But it would have to do, in a pinch. 

There was a sort of decadence to the room that plainly spoke of what kind of establishment it belonged to. The floor—the undamaged parts of it, at least—was a light wooden colour matching the frame of the four poster bed; where there were faded, lilac muslin curtains obscuring a part of said bed from view. In a corner sat a vanity carved in an easily replicable pattern that was a telltale sign of the product being mass produced, and because of these small things, these ‘insignificant’ details, it brought down the whole room's extravagance. Which instead gave it a somewhat..

..ambiguous atmosphere.