4 Onerous

It caused me immense disdain to even look at him. With two more presence in the cabin, I was forced to iron the vivid displeasure on my face, my dignity perishing further as I bowed to him while I inwardly squirmed with frustration and despise at how ambitious his existence was.

It wasn't his fault for what we went through.

But neither was it arguable that he, indeed is the reason.

I struggled to picture some kind of guilt and remorse for what happened because of him, but failed in a manner that's miserable to its core. His face wasn't made for emotions as such. And his physique wasn't tailored to showcase an ounce of vulnerability. My ever-vibrant imagination gave up attempting to bring this man to his knees- so I made myself stand taller.

It's what I could do.

I refused to entertain him with my anxious delusions, but I was contemplating on just what might get me across these highborn's astute stares.

And I stitched on a single word out of the mess in my mind.

Flattery.

"I suspect he is about to recite his admiration and love for us, thinking it might help get him on our good books" the slightly younger one on the left who had earlier smiled at me pitched, the tip of his tongue darts out over the side of his teeth as if in evaluation "Sorry to disappoint, we don't own that kind of journal"

I don't let the horror I felt reflect me. I return his casual smile that seems to look ages older than he was. And that's when I notice his clothes- a flaming shade of rust and red. A ventims seal.

Wiping the surprise away I shift to General Slantis, the only person who seemed humane among us. And certainly, he was the only one that could be considered a human too-

When he speaks it decapitates the tension momentarily.

"Mister Kasper here doesn't need to flatter anyone, his intellectual strategies and wit play during the chess match we had and trails today is enough to consider him as a very worthy individual" he picks up a glass of drink from the table and nods at me with a gratified gesture. "Never thought we might be meeting again in such- " he stared at his prince, fishing for a word to finish his sentence "-odd circumstance"

Then he chugs in the whole half of what's left on his glass and walked toward me. He wore rings, lost of them. Bold and thick, intimidating so if he were to punch someone he might live the rest of their life with its imprint. But even when he came and stood beside me with his arms crossed, I couldn't explain the nauseating nerves I felt towards the man in gloves who hadn't spoken a single word to me. Yet.

Remarked? Yes.

My injuries seem to not have impressed him much.

"You need to understand" his voice wasn't much different than the night at the tavern, though it seemed much considerate towards who he spoke to as of now. But unfavorable to his tone was the stubborn and spearing gaze he projected at the heir "I can be the perfect mentor to him, haven't I always been one to train the Founds Ace every year? What changed?"

This wise the Ventim sat firmer on his seat, crossed his legs with his brows perked.

"What changed?" The scholar mused, his smile long gone as a leisure danced in them "I would admit personally that a dragon was a change of scene from the same old boring instigators, not to side the girl who fought with him. She was a beauty in arena- your sister lad?" It was too quiet for a moment before I realised what I had been asked.

"She's is a friend, your grace. A sister in adoption" I almost choked at the ridiculousness of what has been unfolding, General Hann Slantis- who we know would legitimately accept the best outcome from the trail in his wing was fighting for it. This is what caelum wanted us to do- Hann Slantis is how we enter the Court of Azure. It's how we steal their possession. He is the first key of the thousand doors i need to escape from.

And he was now arguing for what's rightfully his.

I am his.

"I always get the Ace" he said. A clench in his forehead.

I opened my mouth with less than an alphabet in mind to protest or garner an insight into the commotion when-

"Not the kind of Ace that could be better than you"

My mouth doesn't close, my jaw parts further as I looked at the source of such an absurd comment. He cannot be doing this- he shouldn't be changing the rules and tossing me into a stage of such mightiness or even be staring at me with such biting interest as he was doing so.

The Ezdan, he can't do this.

"There's is always something to learn Lian"

Lian- Julian. The soft edge in General Slantis utterance was enough to send the message. These people comprehended each other well. Well enough to lose my regard of me and treat me as an object. Who cares for the record of the introductory phase when you stand at top of a realm. They don't need to know me- not when the only important aspect here is what they want.

"Didn't you fail to win against him once already?" I couldn't keep my eyes away, not from how hauntingly attracting each shadow of his actions was. There was a humouring glint in his voice accompanied by a slight quirk of his lips. His gaze transcends from General to me in a gentle sweep.

It was the first emotion he was letting be seen and it looked false, yet so rightly placed on him.

"The game was a draw"

"A draw is not a win" he grabs another stack of papers and lets it fall to the fire. It withers and licks up, engulfing the fuel greedily. It mimes the desperation in me, of how I hungered to know where I stand- what my fate led me to and General Slantis was suave enough to lend a voice to my doubts.

After a deliberating stillness, he asks-

"Who gets him then?"

A clock ticks somewhere, it strikes twice. Two at night.

Two were his eyes that fixes on me, I wanted to hide. To hate. To wake from this terror. But the most I could cope was listen- to listen and stand.

"He will be mine to make"

Mine to make?

To make?

As I hustle to draw a conclusive logic to his statement, the Armin next to me reverts to a bitter chuckle. And then he was gone- the scholar was immediately upon his feet- he veered with a sated sigh -

"I am with you in any decision you make, Your Highness. But allow me to help your friend with to his wounded ego" he doesn't wait for a response and nor does his Prince allow himself to say anything. The scholar turns his back on us and the was already halfway to the door.

While i-

I simply stood stuck to the square I had been since I reaped here, I was alone again with this man and the dire need to be excused had grown times more than I allured for that night, also before when I didn't happen to know where he comes from.

Harrowing the ups and downs of this cabin scuffle's my dread and dilutes it to a managing level until I heard him move, he reached for a book that was stacked neatly on a shelf larger than a rich pirate ship. He still had his back to me- so I was surprised when he spoke-

"Is there something you need?" He flips through a page, his brow low as he read.

"No" I nod my head sideways even though he wasn't looking. I clench my jaw at the sheer imbecilic cowardice I was demonstrating.

"Why are you still here then?" He shuts the book and arch's his brow and I realised it was his captivating eyes that were always complimenting whatever he was portraying. If I had been naive earlier- it was Crystal now. He looked almost unaware of how his world worked.

I was waiting to be retired by him.

A prince who asked for me to get his point across to someone else.

It's either he didn't know. Or he didn't care.

But there was a tiny, traumatising prospect staked between the two. He could want to shovel me under pressure and analyse of I might respond. Isn't it what the job of a mentor is?

Does he remember me from last night?

Mine to make!

I was forced to pay attention, scratching over and over at the echo of his declaration as I say-

"I can only leave if you allow me to your grace" I keep my gaze low, but tight on him. I don't aspire to hand him more authority upon me than he already thinks he does. I am not an Antarian anymore- I owe him nothing. May be- just may be an churning betrayal by the end of this suicidal mission.

But not a penny more than that. Not that he is deserving of it.

The thought is a gust of fresh rain, it comes in waves and teases my thirst to see him suffer. And I don't even know him.

I know more of his Dragons scraping, dirty toenails than I do about him. But yet- I yearn to hurt him, or the power he has.

"It's a protocol that everyone is obliged to follow" I hold my wrist with my free hand, sensing the bones and skin and how thin I was under the clothes. I hold his gaze again, a rescinding emphasise on the term 'everyone' still heavy on my tongue.

Everyone is required to do it.

I follow rules.

But none of my courage and euphuism gets rewarded, he directs his attention to the shelf and pressed the book he took back into the rack with one single order my way-

"Leave"

***

It was release, a relief to be suspended with such neglect and disregard. For someone who had been conspired to be an equal to a dragon a while ago, his ignorance was like an oxygen to my lungs. But not until I got back to the room- dodging the hostile and weird stares of anyone and everyone who crossed my path.

The fighters saw me as a threat to their ranks while the few Armins that walked threw a quizzically quick once over. A scrutiny they cited none with. It was cruel to be so known when my life depended on the need of invisibility. Mundane and ordinary. It's how I was supposed to thrive. Life. Leave.

This can't happen with my en route from a Prince's private study.

Fatigue trashed me to the bed, the aged borders in ceiling blurred as i curled into the smallest stature of my being and let my eyes fall close. I hear movements outside and the day hazed, my dreams a series of unfocused symphony.

But what wasn't unclear was the morning the next day. I was too awake and too bright to let my aches distract me from what was going on. I had slept with my shoes on - so when there was a rain of thundering knocks on the door- I fly to the lavatory. Splashing water to bring colours to my face I hurried to meet the visitor.

It was a guard, he only waited for me to bark orders at my face, reading into a paper he carried.

"You are expected at annexe East by hour Eleven" he marches off to the cabin beside and knocked in a similar fashion.

Pressing my palms to my curdling face, I stroll impatiently around my room. When I could subtly catch my breath I began my search for Dorin. Or Castle. Or anyone who could lead me to Dorin. The need for his presence and unbiased assurance has been gnawing at the sanity I had conjured so far. Like a lost child, I navigate the base until I stumbled over the main hall, a house of dome and greenery that I had passed through yesterday.

Enough were the events from last night to rise bile in me. I could throw up the instant if I hadn't found a change of thought in the form of Slate Willow. He carried a large, oval fruit in his arms and looked lost and confused.

My feet rush to him, trekking down the stairs. Two at once.

He seem to find his search as he raised one hand to wave at someone, but I crashed onto him with a bucket of questions and a pool of misery. His jaw dropped at first, then he dropped the fruit to the side and engulfed me in a hug. If anything one mustn't disregard towards the hospitality that comes with him was that- Slate's language of friendship was lots of hugs and bone-cracking back pats.

He slaps you when he laughs.

And I can't even assure that we were friends in official.

"So the Ace hadn't forgotten his peasant mate huh?" He grins releasing me, I lick my drying lips- buying some decent seconds, suitable enough to ask him about Dorin. Then I realise that time is what I can't buy or bargain for. I cut to need.

"You saw Dorin? You know where he is?" I ask as people looked at me, watched a clone of circus that I was. Yesterday, I was one of them, a trivial bystander whose eyes searched the highborns in crowd, whose study of them remained locked in her heart. Who would never be listened to? I was as invisible as the colour of water.

But now, heads turn with inquisitive stares. They nudge their companions in awareness - some whisper and some glare. No one approached, and the few that tried to got yanked by the one beside them.

"He is in the infirmary still, curator said he will wake up tomorrow- with all of his injuries healed. It's his head he bled through- perhaps a good reason why it's taking so long for him to revive" he grabs my arm and tucks the fruit by his waist. I kept forgetting that he is a farmer's son and as of now, he looked every bit of what one would imagine him to be.

We get to an empty table in the corner and took a seat, I mimic him like a puppy- a glacé to whoever stared at me once in while became a habit when we entered and mingled with the Antarian civilisation. But after what transcended, I kept my gaze intact on Slate even with the countless eyes icing my skin.

Ice may numb an ache to others. But to the survivors of ivyaki- it's a feeling of everything's that's wrong with their life. Its trauma. It grief. It's a wound that could never heal because it's frozen- too preserved in time to heal.

"Are we going to speak of what happened?" He rolls the fruit by the table, a drizzle of strain in his utterance causes me to notice the hesitation with which he sat and acted. When I refused to answer he lifts his gaze and stared at me. My naked worry couldn't have been more obvious as he sighs "We all are perplexed, we don't know what you are? Where you are from, or how to incline. Well- I don't. But to the rest here, you are a threat to their excellence that they have been working for since they could remember"

He waits. I blink. He continued.

"No one has ever heard of you competing in weekly tournaments, street ramps or your name among the desirable candidates. It's like you and your friends grew potatoes and cabbages your whole life and then boom, you lowered your arse into trials and now are an ace. The one who topped the selection charts" when he finishes, his hands were in the air. His eyes a saucer of doubts, shock and surprise. His lips trembled.

"I did what I had to survive in there"

"You tamed a Dragon"

"He gave up on the fight"

"It's a she" he corrects as I recall what the Ezdan had referred to it earlier. His girl. He called the ugly bird his girl-he also made sure that I happened to know that his stinky pet had been merciful to me. But the miracle was the fading bruise on my body and ribs, the curator's tonics or a Ventims invention, whatever it is had worked its charms. It's magic. Everyone here including me had their ruptures cared to. They all look well-rested, bold, brave and filled with adventures.

"I had your bags and things delivered from the inn- Dorin's too" I nod in thanks, my brows rising in the silent surprise of how I had completely forgotten about the things I own. Which wasn't much- but the map of seal- is something on which our life depends. What a moron was I to let it be there tucked in a sack under my bed in an inn we might not even return. "And no"

Slate snapped with an edge, as I tilt to face him fine.

"She did not violate the fight. Instigators don't surrender like that. Never" he picked a copper spoon from his pocket and scooped the pulp, he shoves it into his mouth and chewed snarkily "Not an highborns companion. I cannot bring myself to believe your tale"

This angered me, he was calling me a liar. Which I am. But as of now, there wasn't anything else to lie about. I was as clueless with what happened as everyone else. But I can't say- admitting will only make me the target, which I already am. An Antarian unknown of his powers or skills is something unheard of. No child or adult here is unaware of what they are.

A drop of blood on their day of birth defines it.

A crimson drop of innocent blood that's lighter than water. It doesn't mix with anything. Their blood, too stubborn to be soaked by earth, tainted by fire, dissolved by its own kind. It's gross to think that nothing seems to accept such kind.

But it's where the relevance ends.

The world knows that nothing is allowed to have the audacity to touch them. Change them, break them.

I always wondered if the dead Armins were still intact by their graves. If their body still remained clad in their rich colours, do they ever get touched, bit, or doesmposed.

"Can I have some?" I ask, bringing my finger up and poking at the fruit.

"As if this fruit is anything better than what you must receive in your private quarters" there are grunts and constant chatter around us that kept rising and falling, people had made friends here who laughed and joked, but as to what I see, Slate was mopping. And what he mentioned gave me a reason to snort.

"Food? To my quarters?" I know I had been given a separate room to recover in the infirmary ward- but no one did bring me any food.

"You can't play me for a fool Timo, we all know how General Slantis takes care of his ace every year. He is systematically your mentor, the reason you will be envied, outcasted and disliked by your-" he tossed a glimpse to our surroundings and winced "Forget it. You get to be hated by a few to be preferred by him. His guardianship is invaluable. So don't give heed to what these people would have to say"

He throws the spoon at me and I catch it. My heart wrecked against my ribs as my condition resurfaced once more. Uninvited. But always there was the anxiousness about who I met yesterday. I talked to him. I saw him. In-person. He existed. He lived so I don't get to live in peace. So we don't.

"I don't think he will be my mentor this year" I scoop my share of pulp and held a moan when it enticed my taste buds. It was sweet and tasted of dough and butter. It was unnatural. It was made.

Slate snorts with a shake of the shoulder.

"It's impossible. It's a rule. It can't be changed unless a higher titl-

He drawls out with his jaw falling slack

"What makes you think that?" He whispers scooting closer, my head falls as I look at my lap.

I was there when it was said.

Mine to make.

I aspired to throw this large, solid skinned fruit at someone's head. At anyone's head. I thirst to have my control back.

"Instance? I don't get any food to eat. I was appointed a mouldy infirmary to complete my respite in. And I haven't received a change of clothes like you all seem to, it doesn't feel in the tradition with what the great General has to offer. Does it?" I snapped, for a reason unknown I did. Slate's brows pinched as he backed with twist of lips.

"I said what I am rehearsed with, you are on your own here" he gets up from his seat, I catch his wrist. He looked at me, a strange play of emotions on his face.

"But we don't have to, we can depend and help, fare each other better" my ornate request is replied with silence and curl of his arm, I let it go. We were watched, my moves were mapped and scaled, and he doesn't have to risk his life along with us. We are traitors. I shouldn't have asked him this, but a part of me was hurt by the idea of his denial.

But the reason was it wasn't something I was prepared to.

"You might want me today, but normal warriors like us aren't someone you should make friends with. There are many waiting for you in Esseth, you'll forget me then. I don't want a burden of lost friendship here. I will work the small part I am made for- as for you" he smiled, the wrinkle by the corner smile "You could be a part of legacy if you want"

I almost feel empty as the meaning beneath his words onsets into me, its chaos in my mind inside until a dire silence fills out. Every single soul present raised to their feet and stood tight with a posture that they had practised for moments like these. Clumsily I got on my feet and turn, holding my head as sharply as I could. Expecting a drill. Anything that they do in an army base.

But it wasn't. It was just one person who was here in visit.

General Slantis.

I see him draped in whole of his glory, among the tallest in room. Among the highest in ranks. With so much command in his eyes that it creates a shudder in atmosphere. A tear in my brave front. Far from how i met him, he appeared immortal. He stood there as the General he is claimed to be. And yet- he was so young. So new to his adulthood beneath his suit and knighthood.

When his eyes search, it almost creates a ripple among the crowd. A curiosity of who he is looking for.

I wasn't far from the stairs he was in, it wasn't a challenge to fish out a small, fidgeting blonde boy for him. Contrary to yesterday he approached me with a relaxed smile. I wasn't an official warrior, yet I clasp my finger behind and raised my stare to look at him.

"Mister Kasper, pleasant morning," he says, the mention of mister before my name makes me wince internally. Certainly odd after I had recently described this man in a notion of feministic views.

"To you too- sir" I clipped with a stern nod. When his lips quirked I realised what it must be to watch a fifteen-year-old attempting to man up to him. It was a ridiculous image, but I intend to be this. He inserts his hand in the pockets of his trousers, suddenly looking less Armin like.

"Care to join for a match?" He asked.

It was him.

It should be him. A mentor. He has the skill to make one like him. To comfort the one who lacks it. Not throw one to an edge as to how the certain someone one did.

I look at the colossal glass clock by the end wall.

"I am wanted in half the hour"

His smile fades. But doesn't disappear.

"Need less than that to win" he teased warmly, like chiding a child. I am a child to him.

So I did what one would with my nose held high.

"We shall see about that sir"

We can also see if he is stubborn enough to fight for me. For the Ace that surges his reputation each year. For himself so we could betray his trust and run away with the most guarded entity in the soil of Antar.

Fantasy Fashion Illustration

Hiii...not edited so apologies here. Sorry this chapter took late to upload. I had so much going on this week and GOD, it was so worth it. I had a fun week tbh. Hope this chapter is fun too.

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