Chapter 103

Fire Which Doesn’t Burn

It snowed still, even what felt like just a few weeks before the beginning of the spring for Sylas. Deep in the forest, surrounded by the countless trees, their green canopy had been replaced by white, building floating igloos where some life seemed to reside. Every so often, he’d see a few different species of birds dig into the bustling roofs of white, hiding in there. This was especially true just before an onset of violent winds or snowstorms that ripped even through him at times, despite the protections.

Beyond that, the deeper they went into the forest, the more creatures they ended up encountering. Most were mild, pacifistic in nature, minding their own business. Rather, only one ended up attacking them--a wolf-like beast that instead of fur had its skin on full display, covered in ashen-gray spots. The strange woman who still refused to name herself explained that the only reason it attacked was that it was starving.

At the moment, the two, according to her, at least, were just a week out from leaving the forest--something Sylas looked forward to momentously. After all, being stuck for months in the forest was... tiring. Aside from the dips and the occasional strange rock, there was little to see--it was a forest like any other with, admittedly, some thriving (though currently mostly dead) flora.

“What’s your plan for when you get to the village?” she asked. “Will you just bust in like a big villain and demand answers?”

“... is that how you see me?” he asked, stirring the stew. The woman seemed allergic to cooking, altogether, though she was at least decent when it came to cutting vegetables.

“Like a brute?” she mused, fingering her lips lightly. “Well, you did try to do everything by just bashing your head against the wall.”

“That’s true,” he nodded. “I suppose I should have you take the lead, then.”

“Wait-wh--”

“Since you seem so experienced with proper and civil communication,” he glanced at her. “Thank you upfront for your help.”

“... you are an ass.”

“What?”

“Oh, please. Do you think that young, beautiful, white-haired women are something you see every day in the outside world?!”

“First off,” Sylas said. “Young? Please. Beautiful? Eh. Subjective.”

“You’re just bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

“So, you don’t think I’m beautiful?”

"You're eerie, if anything," Sylas said, sitting down and leaning against the tree. "Beauty is found in commonality. You? You stand out like a pimple on otherwise perfect skin."

“Isn’t that what makes me so beautiful, though?” she grinned. Sylas had long since realized quite a few peculiarities about her--namely that she cloaked her deep-seated insecurities by cheekily fishing for teasing compliments.

“No, that’s what makes you a liability when walking into a village,” he fired back. “They’ll all think I’m bringing a witch with me or something. Besides, just because something is unique doesn’t mean it’s beautiful. Bloody shit, for instance, is pretty unique. But nobody will say it’s beautiful.”

“Did you just compare me with bloody shit?”

“No.”

“You did,” she said, her tone flat and dead, just as her eyes were for a moment. “I understand not kneeling in praise of my beauty.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“But comparing me with bloody shit? I want to kill you.”

“I’m sure you do. Besides, I didn’t compare you with bloody shit. Just used it to make my argument.”

“That I’m uniquely beautiful, like bloody shit?”

“Stop saying bloody shit,” he said. “It doesn’t fit your face.”

"Since, apparently, my face is just as beautiful as bloody shit, it does."

“Wow, damn. I really cut deep with that one, huh? Wasn’t even wanting to.”

“Haah,” she sighed, walking up to the stew and stirring it herself. “For someone in desperate need of my help, you really do treat me horribly.”

“... have you been coddled so much for so long that you’ve forgotten what any kind of treatment besides worship feels like?”

“And yet all that boundless wit of yours wouldn’t have gotten you through this forest without me.”

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “But on a more serious note--”

“--I was being serious.”

“--do you have any way of dyeing your hair or something? I would like to chatter and mingle, for however much. And with you next to me, I feel I might just get strapped with leather strips to a stake and burned.”

“... I do,” she said. “As long as you say I’m beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“... your praise is really cheap, huh?”

“Affordable by the masses, really.”

“If it’s so cheap, why aren’t you dolling it out?”

“Because it still ain’t cheap enough for you.”

“I will kill you one of these days," she said. "With a clear conscience."

“Sure,” he nodded. “When I want to reset, I’ll invite you and hand you the knife and bend my head forward to give you the best view of my neck.”

“That has to be the most bizarre thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said. “And I was once told by a man that he wanted me to choke him with my feet.”

“...”

“...”

“That’s fucked.”

“It really is.”

“Well,” Sylas said, stretching out. “At least I can promise you I’ll never utter anything remotely as disgusting.”

"You just swing in the other direction of the mean."

“You’re a grown-ass woman,” he said. “Stop saying ‘mean’.”

“Boo.”

“And ‘boo’.”

“Well, you are a grown-ass man who hasn’t jumped a beautiful woman even after months of traveling with her! Something is very wrong with you!”

“Something is very wrong with you to assume it’d be more normal if I had jumped you,” he said.

“Do you prefer men, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Beasts?”

“No.”

“T-trees?”

“No.”

“C-c-chil--”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“... wow. Did I just hit a cord?”

“Yes, but not the one you were aiming for,” he said, pouring each a bowl of rabbit stew. “You have a very warped view of the world. Just because something is beautiful doesn’t mean it deserves to be loved or adored or worshiped. The same way that just because something might be seen as ugly doesn’t mean it deserves to be disparaged, mocked, and belittled. And just because there is a man who’d rather stick a sword up through your eyeballs rather than a cock down your thighs doesn’t mean he’s insane. Well, a bit insane. But not too insane.”

“...”

“Huh. So you do have blood in your veins,” Sylas chuckled lightly when he saw her cheeks faintly flush.

“Of course I have blood! What did you think I had?!”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Ice?”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes, blowing at the spoon of stew before eating. “You are entirely unmannerly.”

“... yeah,” he nodded. “Sorry.”

“... I’m sorry too,” she said suddenly, surprising him.

“H-huh?”

“Don’t look so shocked!” she harrumphed. “I can apologize!”

“Coulda fooled me. What are you sorry for, anyway?”

“I... for judging you,” she said. “Based off of my previous experiences.”

“Yeah, that ain’t something worth apologizing for. How else were you gonna judge me? Based off of your dreams?”

“That--that’s not what I mean!”

“I know what you mean,” he smiled lightly. “And it’s still fine. Always assume the worst of people and let them prove you wrong over time. That’s a good mantra.”

“No, that’s an awful way to see the world,” she sighed. “Wait--did you assume the worst of me from the start?!!”

“Huh? Well, yeah. Of course.”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh, come on--look at it from my perspective,” he shrugged at her explosion. “You appeared out of fucking nowhere, claimed you were a Prophet and that you were gonna help me. I didn’t know you were just a clumsy, naive, slightly narcissistic girl back then. For all I knew, you were a wailing ghost of a jaded, scorned woman on a prowl for young, handsome men and you were planning on gutting me and skinning me and doing stuff to my body even hell deemed immoral.” Sylas quickly moved his head to the side as a bowl came flying at him. She was panting aggressively, looking at him angrily. Though he was half-joking, he also wanted to see how far he could push. “That’s an awful waste of food, you know?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, finally,” he said, continuing to eat. “We cut to the core. Now, we can start befriending each other.”

“Start?!!”

"I never befriend people who think they can't ever be angry enough to kick me in the balls while with me," he said. "It means they're hiding something or want something from me."

“...”

“...”

“That’s literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard uttered by anyone,” she said bluntly.

“Even the feet stuff?”

“Even the feet stuff.”

“Damn. I guess I did open your eyes to the greater horizons well before you did the same for me.”

“... you know, I’m glad I’ll forget all of this ever happened,” she said.

“Why? I can just replay my actions and have you join me once again and torture you all over again, but this time knowing all of your weaknesses.”

“... you wouldn’t.”

“Probably,” he said. “But would you really gamble on it?”

“I’m glad I’ll remember all of this so I can stay as far away from you from now on as possible!”

“Oh? You want to remember me?”

“Don’t make it weird, you bastard.”

“You’re a Prophet, young lady,” Sylas said. “Mind yourself.”

“Mind your mother!”

“... pfft, ha ha ha ha,” even Sylas was unable to hold on any longer, bursting out into laughter. “Mind your mother, she said, pfft, ha ha ha ha, goddamn, ha ha ha...”

“... huh. So you can laugh?" she mumbled, softening up when she saw him roll in the snow like a small child. On the other hand, Sylas began to question his brain, having laughed at something a nine-year-old would have used as a retort. There was simply something about the way she said it, he mused, that broke him in a sense. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed this freely and openly, seemingly void of all worries and restrictions. At least, the strange woman who refused to share her name as though it was the most sacred thing in the world knew to start the fire which doesn’t burn.