One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Relik counted his breaths, a silent, desperate rhythm in his head, trying to anchor himself in the simple, undeniable reality of inhaling and exhaling.
Desperately trying to cling to a sense of familiarity. Anything that should provide him the comfort he craved.
Yet, with the revelation of what he truly was, even the act of taking in breath felt alien.
He walked the crowded streets beside Logun, dodging horses and carriages of the early morning rush. Logun seemed to be moving through the city's ordered chaos, while Relik's mind remained trapped in the chaotic, blood-soaked clearing in the woods.
He turned his focus to his feet.
There was a pebble in his boot.
It had been an odd hour or more since he burnt the clothes off his body.
Logun's spares were a loose fit but were all a fraction too short to be meant for either of them. Usually he would not spare the world his opinion, but priority seemed to suggest that he save his words for deeper conversation.
Even though the rock nestled itself into his ankle with every step, he opted to focus on the feeling of the cobblestone through the worn out boots.
The way they were laid, smooth and even. The faint lines of wear etched into their surfaces by countless footsteps and cartwheels. He counted them too, or tried to. Anything to keep the other images at bay.
The flames.
Bright, impossible, dancing on his skin had not left even a line of ash. The glowing markings, appearing and disappearing like cruel illusions. The arc of fire tearing through the trees, a scar of destruction he had created with a simple wave of his hand.
The sounds of the city pressed in – the distant clang of metal, a merchant auctioning, civilians responding in kind. He strained to listen, to lose himself in the mundane symphony of their lives.
But the sounds of the clearing were louder in his memory: the screams cut short, the sickening finality of Yabi's head disintegrating, the unnatural silence that followed.
He glanced at his hand, flexing his fingers within his sleeve.
They looked normal.
Felt normal. But the memory of the fire was burned onto his awareness, a terrifying truth that contradicted everything he knew about the world, about himself.
How could fire not burn him? He thought as though the lack of damage was an insult to his sense of mortality.
What was this power that resided within him, waiting to be unleashed with a simple, thoughtless gesture? Was this the "spark" Logun had spoken of? A spark that could incinerate life?
He thought of the dead, left behind in the quiet forest. He had killed them. He, Relik Von Vino, who had spent his life tending to delicate vines, had ended fifteen lives. The weight of that act should have been unbearable.
And yet, the profound shock, the sheer, mind-bending impossibility of the fire itself, somehow eclipsed the horror of the deaths. He was more disturbed by the terrifying mystery of his own nature than by the lives his fire had extinguished. That cold, detached observation about himself was a fresh wave of nausea, a terrifying glimpse into a part of his own mind he didn't recognize.
Logun walked beside him, a stark, unsettling contrast to Relik's internal storm. The man moved through the city with an easy, familiar stride, occasionally whistling a low tune or offering a brief nod to a passing citizen. He looked exactly as he had in the tavern – the cheerful, slightly disheveled drunkard – completely unaffected by the morning's violence.
There was no trace of the cold, lethal killer who had ended Yabi's life, no hint of the man who had calmly orchestrated the use of Relik's terrifying power. He just… was. How could he simply switch between such extremes? How could he be both things, so utterly different, without a flicker of internal conflict?
Relik's gaze fell to Logun's pack, catching sight of the familiar shape of Yabi's notched sword hilt peeking out. A silent, grim reminder of the clearing, and another unsettling piece of the puzzle that was Logun.
The man who was so knowledgeable about something he neglected to even comment on prior. The swiftness, the power. Effortless, brutal violence, and yet was also a gambling cheat who, stole from the dead.
It made no sense.
None of it made sense.
They turned onto the wide, central avenue, the Temple dominating their view now. It was a masterpiece of architecture, its white stone gleaming under the sun, its grand arches and spires reaching towards the sky, tipped with lightning rods that seemed to hum with contained power.
This was the heart of Remu, the symbol of divine authority, the place where his life had been rerouted, where destiny had been pronounced, where the vision had revealed… this.
He threw a glare at Logun.
They reached the Temple gates, passing through the outer archway into the quiet, sacred grounds. The sounds of the city faded, replaced by a profound stillness, broken only by the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path and the distant, rhythmic chanting from within the Temple walls.
A cool wisp seemed to descend on them, carrying the faint, sweet scent of incense. Logun slowed, finally stopping just before the wide, imposing steps leading up to the main entrance.
He turned to face Relik, his gaze suddenly a stark opposite. The casual mask was gone, replaced by a quiet, steady intensity that Relik was beginning to understand was the true core of the man.
Relik looked at him, the question that had been burning in his mind since the fire erupted, since he saw the markings, since he felt the terrifying power, since he saw the dead, finally finding its way past the layers of shock and confusion. It wasn't about the bandits, or Logun's actions, or even the Titan stone itself.
It was about the fire.
About himself.
His voice was quiet, raw with a desperate, fundamental need to understand.
"How?"
"I honestly don't know," Logun said, his voice low.
He didn't elaborate. He didn't offer a comforting hand or a reassuring word. He simply looked at Relik, the boy who had just wielded a force of nature, and admitted his own lack of answers.
"And even if I did," he added, glancing around the quiet temple grounds, "we wouldn't be discussing it here."
The implication hung heavy in the air: information was being withheld.
Not just from him, but perhaps it wasn't for Relik to know yet. The vast, imposing structure of the Temple loomed behind Logun, a silent, guardian of that added to his intimidation.
Logun turned and began walking again, heading towards the main entrance of the Temple. Relik followed, his mind still reeling, the unanswered "How?" echoing in his skull.
Another waft of cool air, sweet scent of incense that seemed to serve a forceful distraction.
They passed through the massive, carved doors, entering the Temple's grand foyer.
The Interior was vast, echoing, filled with the soft glow of filtered light and the hushed sounds of prayer and quiet movement.
A stark contrast to the chaotic tavern and the blood-soaked clearing. Relik's eyes scanned the space, taking in the soaring arches, the intricate mosaics depicting scenes of divine connection and bestowed destinies, the figures of light painted with purpose through the hallowed halls. He tried to focus on these details, to lose himself in the architecture, anything to avoid the terrifying questions that clawed at his mind.
Logun, although passive seemed to be avoiding conversation, leaving no time to pause and admire the grandeur. He moved with a clear destination in mind, heading towards a side chamber near the entrance.
Relik followed, watching as Logun approached a counter where a stern-faced man in temple robes sat. There was a large pane of tempered glass, at least a foot thick. A slot carved at the base.
Without preamble, Logun reached into his pack and pulled out Yabi's notched sword. He laid it on the counter with a soft clank. The merchant's eyes widened slightly, his gaze sweeping over the weapon, noting the dried blood near the hilt and the rough, utilitarian craftsmanship that spoke of a bandit's tool rather than a warrior's blade.
"Looking to trade this in for coin," Logun said, his voice back to its casual, slightly disarming tone. "Good steel, still has some life in it."
The merchant's lips thinned. He pushed the sword back towards Logun with a single, disapproving finger. "We do not deal in… salvaged goods of this nature, sir. Especially not those clearly taken from… unfortunate circumstances." His gaze flickered to the dried blood.
Logun threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Unfortunate circumstances? It's a perfectly good sword! A little character, maybe! See? This notch here? Probably from a heroic battle against… a very stubborn tree!" He leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "This is what's wrong with the world today! No appreciation for honest acquisition! Capitalism, I tell you, it's ruined the spirit of enterprise! Back in my day, a man could trade a perfectly good, recently acquired sword without judgment!"
He launched into a rambling, semi-coherent rant about the decline of bartering ethics and the soullessness of coin-based economies, gesturing wildly with his hands.
Relik tuned him out, the familiar pattern of Logun's tangents washing over him. He felt a strange mix of embarrassment and a weary fascination. Here they were, in the sacred heart of the Temple, moments after a terrifying display of power and brutal killing, and Logun was arguing about trading a dead bandit's sword for cash. It was so absurd, so utterly disconnected from the reality Relik was grappling with, that it almost felt calming in its sheer ridiculousness.
He drifted away from Logun's rant, drawn by a large board mounted on a nearby wall. It was covered in notices, official decrees, and various postings. He stood before it, not really reading, just using it as an excuse to put some distance between himself and Logun's performance. His gaze swept over the words, his mind still replaying the fire, the markings, the unanswered "How?".
And then he saw her.
She was standing a few feet away, also looking at the board, her back to him. She was human, like him, her hair a simple brown, her clothes plain. But there was something else. Something… extra.
It wasn't anything he could name, not a color, not a sound, not a visible aura. It was a feeling, a subtle resonance in the air around her, a quiet intensity that drew his attention in a way nothing else in the Temple had. It felt like a hidden depth, a quiet power held in check. He didn't understand it, but he felt It, a strange, almost magnetic pull.
As if sensing his gaze, she turned her head. Their eyes met.
Her eyes were a deep, startling brown, and in that instant, they widened, freezing on his face.
Recognition?
Surprise?
And finally fear?
He couldn't tell. For a fraction of a second, she was utterly still, like a startled deer.
Then, just as quickly, the moment broke. Her expression shifted, becoming guarded, unreadable. She turned abruptly away from the board and walked swiftly, purposefully, towards a side exit, disappearing into one of the Temple's many corridors without a backward glance.
Relik stared after her, a fresh wave of confusion washing over him.
Who was she?
What was that feeling?
Why had she reacted like that?
The brief, silent encounter left him with yet another unanswered question in a mind already overflowing with them.
"Relik! Really kid, wandering off?" Logun's voice snapped him back to the present. Logun was standing beside him, having apparently finished his unsuccessful negotiation.
He clapped a hand on Relik's shoulder, steering him away from the board. "And staring at pretty girls? We have important Guardian business to attend to, not chasing skirts. Dress? Though," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I can't say I blame you entirely. She was rather… intriguing. Still, focus, kid, focus! Especially after that completely unreasonable merchant refused to see the obvious value in a perfectly good, slightly used blade! The nerve!"
He launched back into his tangent about the merchant's lack of vision, dragging Relik deeper into the Temple. They navigated a maze of corridors, the air growing cooler, the chanting from hidden chambers becoming more distinct. They finally arrived in a long, narrow hallway lined with small, alcove-like stations. In each alcove stood a figure in simple robes, their faces serene, their hands resting on small, glowing pedestals. Bellmen. The Temple's teleportation specialists.
Most of the bellmen were occupied, their pedestals humming with soft light as people stepped onto them and vanished in a shimmer of energy. Only one station was free. Logun steered Relik towards it.
"Right then," Logun said, pulling a small pouch of coins from his belt. "Our ride to Haraan." He handed the pouch to the waiting bellman, a young man with calm eyes and a steady hand.
The bellman accepted the payment with a silent nod. He then turned to the ground before his pedestal and began to draw. He didn't use chalk or paint. Instead, a faint, shimmering light traced intricate lines onto the stone floor as his finger moved.
Spirals within squares, interlocking triangles, symbols that seemed both geometric and organic, pulsing with a soft, internal energy as they were completed. The circle grew, complex and beautiful, radiating a gentle warmth. It was a mesmerizing process, watching the pattern of light unfold, feeling the air around it subtly shift.
When the circle was complete, a soft hum filled the air. The bellman gestured for them to step into it.
"Alright, kid," Logun said, stepping into the center of the glowing pattern. "Hold still. Might feel a bit… disorienting the first time."
Relik hesitated for a moment, looking down at the glowing symbol beneath his feet.
Magic.
Real magic, being used for travel. His journeys to Remu had always taken four days by carriage, a long, dusty trip. The idea of simply... vanishing and reappearing somewhere else was staggering. It was another impossible thing in a day filled with them.
He stepped into the circle beside Logun. The light intensified, swirling around them. The humming grew louder, vibrating through his bones. The world around them blurred, colors bleeding together, sounds distorting. He felt a strange sense of being stretched, pulled thin, then snapped back into place.
One moment, they were standing in a quiet hallway in the Remu Temple. The next, they were somewhere else entirely.
The air was different here, warmer, but carrying the scent of something calm. The architecture was grander, more imposing, the light filtering through massive stained-glass windows casting vibrant patterns on the stone floor. They were in another temple, clearly, but one on a much larger scale than anything Relik had ever seen.
This was Haraan.
They were in his nation's capital.
Relik stumbled slightly, his head swimming. The sudden shift was disorienting, leaving him feeling lightheaded and slightly nauseous. Four days of travel, reduced to a single, dizzying instant. It was impossible. Utterly, completely impossible.
Relik breathed, staring around the vast, echoing space, the shock and wonder momentarily overriding his earlier turmoil. "Four days… just like that."
Logun didn't seem to hear him. He was already looking around, his eyes scanning the area near the teleportation circle. He spotted a figure in the distance, a merchant's counter visible nearby. A familiar, calculating glint entered his amber eyes.
"Relik is it?" Logun said, turning back to Relik, his voice brisk. "Welcome to Haraan! Your first mission: find the Burning Tempest guild hall. It's… around here somewhere. Ask for directions. Can't miss it. Hopefully." He clapped Relik on the shoulder. "Got a little business to attend to. Don't wander off too far!"
And with that, Logun turned and walked away, heading towards the distant merchant, Yabi's sword still in his pack. Relik watched him go, the implication clear. Logun was going to try and sell the sword again. Leaving Relik, alone and disoriented in a strange city, tasked with finding a guild hall he knew nothing about. His destiny, it seemed, was going to be a series of impossible events and bewildering instructions.
Relik sighed, "Burning Tempest."