“Viera, the Warmth. The goddess of passion, life and beauty – it may very well be the only thing uniting the cities named after her. Even in foreign lands, she's still revered in one way or another. While people like to argue about which of the two deities, Viera or Atharemine, gave birth to the world, they all agree that they each represent a very distinct image of the night. Atharemine is the silent darkness, the peaceful slumber. Viera is the fire, the sleepless night, the warm embrace. It's no wonder they say every brothel is a temple of Viera. Most southerners will feel offended and remind you that she's the goddess of many other noble things, but let's not kid ourselves, she's only widely known for being the moral opposite of Pelirise. Where do you think the exclamation “by Viera's tits!” comes from, eh?

-fervent admirer of Viera's teachings”

* * *

Astrael

“By the way, have you heard the news?” Joel asked from behind.

Astrael buried his sickle deep into the earth. He pushed aside the drenched strands of black hair falling on his eyes and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “What's that?” he said as he turned his head toward his father.

The man flashed a wry grin. “Seems like we won't have to pay tribute to Callir this year.”

“Oh...” He caught his breath, and eventually inhaled deeply. “Well... I bet we have Rina to thank.”

“Damn right you are,” his reply came, surprisingly sharp. “It's the least they can do to reward the village that gave birth to Xito's champion! These pretentious bastards.”

Astrael chuckled and gave him an equally wry smile. “And yet you sound angry. Displeased, even I'd say,” he mocked, while knowing perfectly why his father seemed bitter.

“If they think they can buy my daughter with some crops...” he grumbled. At least his father had come to his senses. It took Joel years before he finally realized that his only daughter would be shipped away. He had always been proud, but pride had been the only thing he felt until now. Sadness and frustration were new.

Soon Rina would celebrate her seventh birthday, and shortly thereafter an envoy from Callir would come here and escort her to the city. The approaching departure date of his child must have finally incited him to act like a proper father.

“Hah...” Astrael faced away and resumed his work. It was a tiring toil for his young body, but in spite of the heat and the aching muscles, he couldn't help smiling. Joel was so obsessed with his crops and his harvests... It even took a crops-related topic to make him understand that Callir was basically trading his daughter. He seemed oddly pissed off by that realization in particular.

Well, I don't blame him for anything. He has the right to be angry, even if it's somewhat late. Parents should not be separated from their children, especially not at such a young age.

Children, indeed. It had already been some time ever since Astrael informed his parents of his decision. He had told them everything at once. That he'd go to Callir, too. That he'd watch over Rina. That he'd stay with her for some time. Of course, it didn't go well at first. His father wanted him to become a farmer like everyone else here, so he didn't approve immediately, unsurprisingly. His mother did not look like she was against the idea, but she was obviously uneasy because it meant having both her kids going away at the same time.

It would have gone smoothly if he had had the option to speak about his past. But no child would be credible or even remotely sane-looking if he spoke about what being a hero really meant. What could a child possibly know? Even Astrael himself wouldn't take seriously a brat coming to him and speaking about life as if he knew anything.

So he used the other means he had access to. His intellect and his maturity. He spent months reading Horace's bullcrap ballads, learning everything he could about, well, everything. If it looked like he had the traits of a genius, they'd accept his request more easily. Even Horace came to their house, telling his parents that his talents would be wasted here in the countryside. The old apothecary insisted that Astrael was gifted, that he could do great things in the city. That he'd probably become a scholar or a prominent politician, if he chose to.

Though even now, I suspect Horace's intervention wasn't for my sake only. He used to live in Callir, surely he has an idea of how things are over there. And there must be a reason he left the city in the first place.

There was that other thing, too... Horace didn't mention anything about it to his parents, and that was even more suspicious. But whatever secrets Horace's past may or may not have harboured, Astrael did not intend to pry. Perhaps he'd ask, one day, but for now, he was content and thankful for his influence, and for his help.

Joel ended up accepting, though he still requested that Astrael helped during the harvest. And so there he was, fulfilling his side of the bargain, a side that involved wielding a sickle and carrying wheat.

At noon, he was finally allowed to go back in the house and rest, while his father and the others kept working like demons. Whatever... he shrugged. They must still be overjoyed, knowing they'll get to keep all of it this year.

He let himself fall on the bed and closed his eyes, slowly giving into the fatigue. But as he was slowly falling asleep, he suddenly raised his head and jumped to his feet. He walked to the only desk in the room and opened the book he had received for one of his birthdays.

“An Incomplete History of Vieran Weaponry, by Euronel,” he read out loud in an obnoxious, satisfied voice. Despite its modest title, this book was a fairly thick, and more importantly, Astrael had to admit, a incredibly well-documented work that followed the evolution of military technologies in the Vieran cities. Said cities, located to the north-west of Callir, were known for their loose customs learned from Viera, their patron-goddess, and, to a lesser extent, for their traders, craftsmen and artists.

Euronel compiled here, in this very costly illustrated encyclopedia, several centuries of discoveries and technological progress applied to the art of war. According to him, for a long time, there was debate as to which civilisations, of the western kingdoms of Dael and Paar, and the many eastern city-states, could be seen as the cutting edge of military technology, but even among the opposite side, the Vieran cities had never been looked down upon.

Though nowadays, the different cultures had blended together and there wasn't much that could be debated about – what remained of this past polemic and its conclusions, was that the Vieran had the strongest navy, and that Dael could boast more castles than any other nation.

One would have to wonder, then, as to why this book spoke of inventions that originated in no way from the Vieran cities. The answer, Astrael had found long ago in Horace's history books.

The fact was that, in spite of centuries of war and peace, no one had managed to take over the entirety of the lands around the Middle Sea. There had been an inertia of sorts between these great powers, and the trade between them in times of peace had contributed to spread out the progress that had occurred during decades of arms race.

Nothing I could ever complain about, Astrael thought as he concluded his own history lesson. In any case, Euronel's book had, despite its title and to Astrael's delight, both Vieran and western technologies compiled in it, and among all that there was quite the number of inventions that were completely new to him.

“This crossbow thing, for instance,” he muttered as he observed a detailed diagram of said weapon. “Very ingenious.”

It somewhat allows the power and the range of a bow, without requiring the training of an archer. Astrael scratched his chin as he went through his memories. I think I've seen what I assume to be prototypes of this thing back in my days, but they were more like siege weapons of an awfully large size.

“Ah, what would I do without you, my dear Euronel...”

As he observed the drawing, his mind was already boiling. It was a perfectly unfair weapon – archers were rather highly regarded for their skill and their training, even if some of the less elegant soldiers he knew used to call them sissies and whatnot. And here came the crossbow, a machine that allowed even the most inept ruffian to shoot down people at a distance.

His excitement soon died down, replaced by his careful and observing nature. I guess it's still fairly different from the bow, but, well... None of the cost of an archer's training, one only has to pay for the weapon itself. Not that bad of a deal.

Though something felt strange. This weapon still had obvious flaws. It took both strength and time to reload it, and it looked heavier and bulkier than a bow. If it had really been several centuries, perhaps even millenniums, since his time, shouldn't there be more advanced weapons? Maybe this land was just somewhat late in terms of technological progress...

Or, the reason could be completely different. I should start to accustom myself to this dreaded idea – that perhaps I'll never know where I am.

Regardless, small progress was still progress. Twas better than naught. It also meant there was still room for improvement. He could become an inventor! This crossbow, for instance, could probably be upgraded, one way or another. If the spanning mechanism was improved and made easier to use, there was profit to be made here. Better yet, it would be a perfect gift for some wealthy child, preferably a prince or a young noble, what with the high-borns' love for hunting and all that. It would be an easy way to gain their favour.

“...I wonder if I could build one myself.” It would be a nice gift for Rina, too.

“Build what?” came a voice from behind. He didn't need to turn around to know that it was Rosa.

“A nasty toy, mother,” he answered in a playful tone, facing her. She did not seem to share his interest for murder-facilitating tools, as she was now making a complicated expression. “I'm jesting,” he said, resigning himself to lying. “I'll probably never have to use such a thing, I was just curious.”

Wishful thinking. He knew what sort of obstacles his sister would encounter if she really was to become a hero. His mind was made up, he'd support her to the extent of his ability – and wasn't one to do things half-heartedly.

If it meant readying her for the killing, he'd do it. He'd prepare her for the hell that was the battlefield, and he'd make sure she had a damn big upper-hand.

“I'm just doing what I have do to,” he eventually said in a more composed tone.

Rosa gave in and sighed. “I know. I know, Astrael... It's just... Be careful.”

“I won't be forever at her side, if that's what you're worried about. I have no intention to spend my life in Callir or wherever she'll be stuck at. There are things I want to do, mind you. I'd like to visit the cities of Viera, for instance. I'd like to travel to the kingdom of Dael, maybe even explore the eastern plains. I'm also going to Callir because I want to, not because I feel I have to.”

“I'm not worried”, she said, smiling. “I've lost one child to the gods, I just hope I won't also lose you to them. I know you'll do a great job. I know you'll watch over her.” Then her expression darkened a bit. “You have to, Astrael. It is a great honour to be the chosen of Xito, and I don't distrust the church, but I'm not a fool. Even I know that it'll be dangerous, and that they'll try to use her for their own purposes.”

He kept silent, and as she looked into his eyes while caressing his cheek, he almost had the feeling she was about to cry. But she did not, and it was in a serious voice that she spoke her next words. “You're a smart child, Astrael. Smarter than any adult I know, in fact. Take care of Rina, at least until she's capable of handling herself.”

Gladness was what he felt at the time. He was really glad to have her as a mother, even if he couldn't really bring himself to think of her as such. Rosa was a loving, understanding and intelligent woman. She knew that the world wasn't the kindest of places, and more importantly, she knew to trust her children. Of course, like most mothers, she tended to worry needlessly.

“I will, mother. But you know... Rina is quite the smart one, too. I've realized that years ago.”

The gods aren't known to choose idiots and incompetent people as their servants. I'm the proof of it!

His mother didn't insist, and left him to his reading. Later in the day, he went in the forest, for his little secret ritual. Four empty linen pouches were dangling from his belt, as he jumped over tree trunks, rocks, bushes and tall grass. He went deep, as usual, or at least enough for him not to be disturbed by anyone. Or worse, caught red-handed.

Only the sounds of nearby animals, and of his own footsteps, echoed in the wilderness. Then, he began to search. Carefully, methodically, he gathered the plants he needed. Night berries, first, or nightshade as Horace and the others here apparently called it. Next was white hellebore. It was also nicknamed the crossbowman's plant in these lands, because huntsmen liked to steep the heads of their crossbow bolts in a juice made from white hellebore, before chasing and hunting their game.

He had to leave the forest and wander around a clearing to find his personal favourite, the hemlock. This one had proved its effectiveness back in his time. While it wasn't really in use here, from what he had heard, one couldn't take risks. It was a relatively easy poison to find, after all, and it would be a shame to die because an assassin had decided to use this one for the deed, rather than any other popular toxin.

Lastly, he needed strychnine seeds. It could be used to make cures and medicine, even said to somewhat enhance the physical prowess of the patient in some cases, according to Horace. But if one had enough skill, strychnine could also be made into a very potent poison for which there was no known antidote.

A few hours later, his pouches were slightly heavier than when he entered the forest. They weren't exactly filled, but the amount he had gathered would probably be enough for some time. Now, he only had to go to Horace's place and turn the plants into proper, edible substances. Why had Horace even agreed to teach him how to make these poisons in the first place, Astrael could not fathom. Had he been in the old man's shoes, he would have talked to the parents. But the man kept silent about it – perhaps it was their little secret, in a way? The least Astrael could do in exchange was to avoid prying where he shouldn't. And if push came to shove, if for some reason Horace grew a conscience and informed his parents, he could simply say that he wasn't aware of the danger. It would be the word of an grumpy adult against a poor, innocent child's.

Needless to say, Rina wasn't aware either. Or else, she would never let him ingurgitate these poisons, nor would she accept to eat those plant-based special treats she had sworn to keep a secret between her and her brother.

Ignorance surely was bliss, especially for Astrael, who for now would rather do without his sister asking why self-administering small amounts of poison, everyday since they were six years old, was merely for their own good.