Tharos stood and observed the young boy he had rescued, patiently awaiting a response. The boy in front of him was thin, almost emaciated, a common sight among slaves, especially mistreated ones. The only features that retained their lustre in this nameless young boy were his short blonde hair, gleaming like delicate gold silk, and his vibrant green eyes, sparkling like emerald gems. With a bit more meat on his bones, Tharos thought he could notice his soft facial features and gentle eyes, which gave him a kindly face that was easy on the eyes. The young boy began to speak up, straightening himself up as he did so, wiping off some of the tears that dripped down his face.
However Tharos couldn’t understand. However, while he could guess that this was some sort of thank you, he couldn’t understand what this kid was saying. The language the kid spoke was rather coarse and blunt. In fact, Tharos was surprised by the lack of sophistication; even the most savage and barbaric people from his time had a level of oratory and linguistic finesse. Tharos then tried to re-enter the boy’s mind to re-establish the mental link, since the boy was much calmer now. It was much easier to do.
(“I apologise for intruding upon your thoughts again, young one. However, I cannot comprehend what you are saying as I do not speak your language, and you do not speak mine. Please repeat what you just said, but in your mind this time.“) The boy looked a little surprised and then nodded.
(“Thank you for saving me. My name is Cenric Dellcreek. But wait, how are you doing this, and how can you understand me like this, but not when I am speaking?”) In a tone that reflected a sense of wonder, a childlike wonderment that Tharos couldn’t help but envy.
(“Those are good questions, Cenric. To answer your first question, I do not know how I do this; it is something that comes naturally to me as it was something I was born with. To answer your second question, we are not speaking to one another in the traditional sense. What we are doing right now is communicating our intentions, which are being translated into words that we can understand.”) Cenric nodded, even though Tharos could tell that Cenric didn’t fully understand what Tharos was saying. However, since it was the first conversation he had in centuries, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
(“If you have more questions, Cenric, I suggest saving them for later. Time is of the essence,“)
(“What’s the rush?“) Cenric asks, a puzzled look forming on his face as he looks at Tharos.
(“Well, you see,“) Tharos began to speak, but before he could finish his sentence, he felt the ground start to shake. A low rumbling noise gradually grew louder, echoing throughout the city, causing even Cenric to feel it. Cedric’s face suddenly brightened up as if something had just clicked in his head.
(“Point taken.“)
(“Now, follow me and stay close,“) Tharos said as he turned his back toward Cenric, tossing him a dagger as he left the alleyway. Cenric followed behind him, clutching the dagger.
The duo dashed through the winding streets of the city, occasionally pausing to seek refuge in houses or alleyways to evade the patrolling metallic figures or the twisted creatures that now roamed the streets. The faint sounds of battle reverberated through the city, blending into the cacophony of noise as the tremors and rumblings intensified with each step Cenric and Tharos took, the slightly damp sand sticking to their feet. Far off in the distance, towards the treasure hunters’ camp outside the southern gate, Tharos and Cenric noticed a massive tower of fire shooting up into the air. It pierced through the thick winter clouds in the sky above, with faint rays of sunlight now starting to illuminate the scene below. Though Tharos couldn’t fully discern what was happening, he could sense only the faintest traces of it. He was fortunate that they were moving farther away; otherwise, what he was sensing would have overwhelmed him completely. Even at this distance, he was bombarded by a flurry of emotions and rapidly increasing surges of magical energy. The mage he had detected earlier was evidently losing the battle.
It wouldn’t be long before the mage in question was dead, along with those in the camp with him. He could feel the life force of those people flicker and wane like candles in the wind, some of them reaching a final crescendo before burning out. Tharos had no intention of helping them. As far as he was concerned, they were getting their just deserts for meddling in affairs they had no business in, and this included Cenric, who was now travelling behind him. When he told Cenric that he was here to help, it was more of a lie by omission. As much as he didn’t like lying, he figured it was better to tell him that than the actual truth. Originally, he had no plans to intervene; he was just going to leave him to his fate. However, there was something about Cenric that compelled him to intervene. After getting a closer look at Cenric, he couldn’t understand what had spurred such feelings within him. Perhaps it was something he had forgotten, something important that Cenric had unintentionally stirred within him. Regardless of the reason, Tharos would help Cenric to the best of his abilities, if not for the reason that Tharos was rather starved for company. As the palace quickly came into view. Tharos heard Cenric speak up.
(“Where are we going, Tharos? I can’t keep running like this forever,“) Tharos could sense the fatigue that starting take hold in Cenric. They had been running for more than several minutes. Tharos was actually surprised that Cenric could keep up.
(“We are heading to the palace.”)
(“Why are we going there? Shouldn’t we be getting out here or at least helping those people?“) Cenric said, gesturing behind him in the direction of the treasure hunters’ camp.
Tharos found it somewhat disheartening that Cenric would want to help those who had kept him in chains. However, they didn’t have time for youthful compassion. If they didn’t do what they were about to do, more people would suffer as a result. To bring Cenric up to speed, Tharos began to project a series of images into Cenric’s mind, revealing the existence of the creature sealed beneath the city and outlining Tharos’s intentions. Cenric’s expression shifted from sadness to shock, then to understanding.
(“That is crazy. Are you sure it will even work?”)
(“I am not sure, but it was the only plan out of the many plans that I came up with. That had the greatest chance of success.”)
Tharos was deeply pained by what he planned to do, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Most of the other options required time, which he didn’t have. So his plan was simple: he had to destroy the city, hopefully taking the creature with it. It wasn’t his most sophisticated plan, but it was the only viable option. His original estimate of six months to a year was woefully optimistic; it was a matter of days, if not hours, until the creature would be free of its binds. Even if he couldn’t kill it, at least he could slow it down.
(“That creature – do you think that creature is what Eilis was after? Is that why he came to this city?“)
(“Eilis, who is that?”)
(“A mage, and the reason why I am here in the first place.”) Cenric says while he gestures to the collar around his neck
(“I see, so is he the reason why I’ve had many visitors lately?”)
(“yeah, he has been sending people to find this place for years from what I know. Maybe he heard about the city and this creature and wanted it for himself.”)
(“It’s possible; however, I don’t know how he would have come across such information. The only people privy to such information were high-ranking members of the court or the royal family. So typical of a mage, fooling around with powers they don’t understand. I guess some things never change.”) Well, at least now Tharos knew who was sending these people to an early grave. It was so typical of a mage that it was almost cliché, but that still begs the question of how this mage knew about this creature, if that was his intent and goal to acquire it.
(“How did you know about it? Are you from here?”) Cenric asked inquisitively
(“Yes, this is my home, or to be more accurate, it was my home, since it’s going to be gone soon.”)
(“Well, what happened here, where is everyone?”) Tharos paused for a moment, his expressionless face slowly breaking into a look of frustration as he realised he didn’t have a proper answer, no matter how hard he tried to recall or how far he delved into the endless sea of his memories. There was nothing, aside from faint flickers and a lingering feeling of regret for the things he did, but he couldn’t recall anything else. It was blurry.
(“I am sorry to say this, as I do not like saying this, but I don’t know.”)
(“I see.”) Cenric let out a brief sigh of disappointment at his question not being answered
(“As I mentioned earlier, it would be best to save the remaining questions for later, Cenric. We are about to approach the palace gate, so I suggest you gather your courage and keep your wits about you.”)
(“Understood.“)
The two of them reached the palace gates, and as they looked up at the stairs leading to the palace, they saw that the place was still standing, its grand splendour on full display. Tharos noticed Cenric’s eyes wide open and jaw agape, as if he couldn’t fully comprehend the marvel of architecture on display. Even though time was of the essence, Tharos took a moment to enjoy the sight, soaking in every last detail, every nook, and cranny. He wanted to savour this moment, as it would be the last time he would lay his eyes on the place again and wanted to bid a proper farewell.
(“If I were you, Cenric, I would commit this sight to memory, as marvels like this are fleeting and will soon become dust beneath our heels.”)
Cenric didn’t respond; all Tharos got was a slow nod as they halted their ascent on the steps, the rumbling and shaking intensified rapidly. Small cracks in the staircase and walls began to widen. Tharos experienced a familiar blend of fear, shame, and regret as he pressed on up the stairs. His heart pounded, and fleeting memories flooded his mind. Despite these emotions and images, he remained focused on his mission, knowing that failure was not an option. As the two of them finally reached the top of the stairs and were about to go through the main hall, they were stopped in their tracks by a series of twisted creatures and a few faceless figures of liquid metal pouring out of the main hall to greet them. Some of the twisted creatures he recognised as ones he had encountered before, but there were new ones as well. One of them looked like a small child with sharp needle-like teeth and claws, along with bony wings, while the other one looked like a headless woman of indeterminate age with a massive mouth and several rows of sharp teeth between its breasts. Tharos could see fear rising within Cenric, causing him to quiver and shake, his legs almost giving out. Tharos caught him and gave him a reassuring nod.
Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Tharos thought to himself
(“What are those things, Tharos.”)
(“I don’t know. Stay close Cenric and don’t leave my sight.”)
Tharos drew his sword and raised his shield, while Cenric took cover behind him, staying close and clutching the dagger that Tharos had given him. The creatures charged at Tharos, but he swiftly dodged and managed to decapitate several of them with a few swings of his sword. Their heads rolled on the floor, thick black blood gushing out with a sizzling sound that could be heard as the blood of the creatures started eating through the stone that made up the place’s structure and with Tharos sword.
This is almost getting too easy.
Tharos pondered the situation until he unravelled the scheme at play. The creatures were deployed to weaken and divert his attention from the actual danger. It became evident that these creatures were under the influence of a malevolent force intent on hindering Tharos at all costs. Although these creatures were not a significant threat to him, they were effectively impeding his progress. Suddenly, the metallic figures swiftly surrounded Tharos, overwhelming even his exceptional reflexes. With his attention divided between engaging these figures and protecting his new companion, this fight would be a challenging one. One by one, the metallic figures slashed at him, aiming for his arms and legs. Tharos parried every blow with his slowly rusting blade and blocked with his shield, which had sustained several massive dents. One figure charged at Cenric, while the other two closed in on Tharos. However, this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. As the two closed in on Tharos, he ducked and rolled between them, slashing at their chests. The glowing red orbs in their chests flickered before turning grey. With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw his sword straight into the back of the last figure who was about to close in on Cenric. Cenric narrowly dodged the figure’s blade-like arms, almost tripping up on his ragged-looking fur shoes. Tharos’ sword struck true, piercing through the liquid metal that formed the creature and hitting the red orb at its centre. The metallic figure collapsed to the ground, the red orb flickering before fading to grey.
(“Are you ok Cenric.”)
(“Yah, just need to catch my breath.”)
(“Alright, I will give but a moment for you to recover before we proceed further.”)
(“Sounds good,“) Cenric said as he walked over to lean on one of the temple pillars to catch his breath. Tharos didn’t like having to use Cenric as bait, but he didn’t have a choice. With so few resources at his disposal, he had to use every trick in the book to win. If that meant using a child to draw in his enemies so he could gain an advantageous position, then so be it. Of course, he would never let Cenric know about this. After a few minutes, Cenric had recovered his breath.
(“Alright ready to go Tharos.”)
(“Good, it’s only going to get harder from here. Stay focused.”)
(“Understood.”)
Tharos and Cenric then entered through the main hall, passing by the throne room. Tharos paused for a moment, taking one last look at the throne before turning towards the entrance of the archives and handing Cenric a torch.
