11.

The final pieces

Dominic spent a couple days at the lighthouse to make sure the viscount properly forgot about him. Caspar, in the meantime, was having the time of his life cooking unimaginably lavish dinners for himself, one owl, one begrudging maid, and one guest. The style of cooking was unfamiliar, but every meal was delicious. How they procured the ingredients at such a secluded lighthouse, though, was beyond him.

Breakfast on the third morning was rice congee with chicken. He savored it. Good food had always been hard to come across while doing mercenary work in Vaine. He wished he could stay longer, but there were still loose ends that needed to be tied. The viscount was very much alive. If he waited too long, Thelo would be in danger. Aster and his siblings might be safe now that Dominic had disappeared, but that wasn’t a perfect guarantee either. He needed to return and finish what he had started.

Dominic cleaned off his breakfast and moved back into the tower, leaving the house attached to it where the kitchen and other facilities were. He was headed somewhere else today.

He passed by one of the many floating lanterns in the library and tapped his finger on it. A thread of mana glowed gold, wrapped around the sides of the light, and extended to the back of his hand. The lantern bobbed and followed behind him as he continued across the tower.

Through the maze of shelves, pressed up near the wall, was a small path through the books. To an oblivious bystander, it would almost have seemed like there was nothing there. The entirety of the library looked just the same. But Dominic had known about it since he’d gotten there—the scent was impossible to mask. Metal. Metal and stone and leather, almost artificially clean.

He’d asked Midi about it so it didn’t look like he was overstepping his bounds inside of somebody else’s home. Midi had simply sighed and told him that it was “the armory.”

“No one’s gone down there in ages,” the owl said. “Go ahead. Take whatever you want, but just one per hand, please. We’re not a charity.”

Dominic wove through the shelves. A tiny corridor led behind one, just wide enough for a single person to pass, and ended at a staircase. It wound down into darkness. He stepped into it.

The stairwell, as small as it had looked to begin with, opened up quickly. It twisted around in a wide spiral, like it was following the walls of the tower library above. Midi had said that no one had gone down in a while, but it was so pristine that it seemed like preservation magic had been cast on the entire place. Nothing seemed old or unkempt at all.

A large, round room the same width as the tower appeared at the bottom. The lantern didn’t cast enough light to illuminate the entire thing, but he could already make out most of it.

It was only one floor, but the ceiling was high and it was filled entirely with racks of weapons. They covered the floor and blanketed the walls. The armory was just a library of blades.

Dominic stepped one foot in, then paused for a moment as a thought struck him. Caspar and Midi clearly didn’t need any of this. They had no reason to protect themselves when no one could even make it to the lighthouse. So why was it even here? Who had made this place?

He frowned, but didn’t dwell on it. He knew that neither of them held any ill will against him. The mana that hovered around the basement armory was clean too, despite being filled with tools of war. He put away the thought and walked inside.

The lantern cast a dim, orange glow on the rows of weapons that adorned the room. The scabbards were dusty, but nothing had fallen out of place or deteriorated. And despite it being called the armory, there didn’t actually seem to be any armor. It was all weapons, floor to ceiling. There were swords, spears, axes, polearms, bows, quivers—it almost seemed like a collection rather than for practical use.

Dominic reached over and grabbed a sword from a nearby rack. He drew it partially out of its decorative scabbard. The blade shined as if it had been polished yesterday, Dominic’s face and the orange light of the lantern reflecting clearly on its surface. He’d probably make a killing if he sold any of these weapons back on the mainland of Vaine. They were valuable antiques that were forged better than anything on the market, and noble families would probably walk in with sacks of gold just to get their hands on one.

Dominic slid the sword back into its scabbard and carefully placed it back on the rack he’d taken it from. He had little interest in money, and even less in swords. He had no talent for them, and if a mage attacked, he might as well be unarmed. He turned and continued down the aisles.

Dominic skimmed over the weapons, inspecting their designs with interest but not picking up any more. He passed spears, polearms, huge axes, bows of all sizes, finally reaching a rack mounted on the wall, covered in knives. He floated his lantern upwards to get a better look.

Rows upon rows of racks had been nailed into the stone bricks, stretching all the way to the ceiling. The blades resting on them, still in their many ornamental sheathes, ranged from shortswords to small daggers. He glanced across the array, and something mounted high up on the wall caught his eye.

The reason he noticed was ironically because it wasn’t eye-catching—in fact, he almost missed it altogether. Among the masses of beautiful scabbards, there was this small, unassuming dagger bound in a brown leather sheath. Dominic didn’t think that it could have been special or different from the others in any regard—he just thought that if he wanted a weapon that was practical, then that might be the one. A knife would be light and easy to take with him. He could hide it in the folds of his clothes if he needed to. The boring looking sheath wouldn’t make him stick out. It would be worth taking a look.

There were metal ladders installed at intervals along the walls. Dominic found the nearest one and climbed up.

The first thing that struck him when he reached out and grabbed the hilt of the dagger was the weight. It was far heavier than a knife of its size should have been. He tugged it off its perch on the weapons rack, untangling it from a length of wire, and looped its belt over his shoulder. He carefully descended back to floor level. When he finally unsheathed it in the glow of the floating lantern, his eyes widened at the color of the blade.

It was black—not quite as black as obsidian, but still dark as a clear night. It foggily reflected the orange of the lantern’s light, but seemed to absorb most of it.

“Black iron?” Dominic mumbled.

He had seen black iron before, but only from afar. The production methods for both black and red iron had been lost during the Dark Ages, so weapons made from them were on the level of royal heirlooms. But here it was, just sitting on a rack in the lighthouse basement, and now in Dominic’s hands.

He looked up. The lantern cast a dim, orange glow across the rows upon rows of weapons. There had to be hundreds of them total, quietly lining the racks. He had indifferently skimmed through them without checking the blades themselves. A shiver went through the tips of his fingers.

If this unassuming knife was made of black iron, then how many more were sitting in this room?

Slowly, Dominic slid the dagger back into its sheath. He tied the belt around his waist and tightened it to fit. He glanced back up at the place it had been. The spot was empty now, an obvious absence among the organized array of knives that were attached to the wall.

His eyes narrowed.

Something up there was moving.

In the place the dagger had been sitting, something was dripping. Dark, thick, opaque. The droplets gathered slowly around a silhouette that looked like a thread before falling down onto another knife below.

Blood. Dominic raised the hand he had used to take the blade down.

His palm was smeared with rusty red. A long gash stretched across the center, so deep that he could see the flesh shifting with every move. It was bleeding profusely, leaving splatters across the floor. There was no pain. He hadn’t even felt anything cut him.

“…Heal.”

The wound sealed. Dominic looked up.

He ascended the ladder again. Blood was gathering around the wire that had been holding the knife in place. It was thin, almost clear if it weren’t for the liquid tracing its outline. Dominic reached out his hand and pressed his finger against it.

The wire cut into his skin like cheese. He was looking directly at it, but he still couldn’t feel the pain.

He withdrew his hand and murmured “heal” under his breath.

Something about the wire was strange, aside from how easily it cut. It extended across the weapon racks hitched on the walls in both directions without end. And the scent coming off of it felt like glass instead of metal or string.

He recognized it. The signature it gave off was a very distinct one, completely unlike black or red iron. It was halinium. He’d only ever seen it once at a black market auction—just a speck of raw materials going up for sale. It had a value beyond anything else because it was flexible enough to be used to make magic devices instead of just blades. But was it even possible to forge metal into something as thin as thread?

Dominic reached out to it again, coating his fingers in a layer of mana so it wouldn’t cut him. The wire responded, pulsing with a bluish light where it was touched, spreading outwards like a ripple. He gripped it in his palm and focused.

It took to his mana like kindling. Blue-white light blazed across it, tracing bright paths outwards. It seemed to be connected to every weapon on the walls, encircling the entire room in a web of shining, pulsing strings. The threads lit up the armory like constellations.

Dominic stared, the corners of his mouth subconsciously beginning to prick upwards.

“This is…”

The mana receded, returning to his fingers, the armory snapping back to darkness once more. The thread glittered with a silvery sheen under his palm. It almost seemed to hum, at attention. Waiting for something.

He smiled.

“Come here,” Dominic said.

The wire, everywhere at once, flashed blue for an instant. It unraveled from the walls, sliding away at the speed of a cracking whip and collecting in both his hands. The threads wove together as if preprogrammed, wrapping around his fingers, his palms, his wrists. It was mostly clear at first, but once the ends finally came into his grasp and tangled themselves in with the rest, they solidified into black cloth—thin and flexible.

Two gloves now covered his arms up to his elbows. Dominic stared at them. He was starting to understand the true worth of halinium.

He carefully made his way down the ladder, testing out how they felt against his skin. Unlike before, even without a protective layer of mana, they didn’t cut into him. He was sure if he let them loose again, his arms would end up as minced meat, but that was a problem he could easily solve. He was, after everything, still a healer.

Dominic headed back upstairs, the lantern he’d brought bobbing behind him. He glanced up after emerging from the stairwell. Midi was there watching him, perched on a shelf above.

“You got something good,” the owl commented, looking him up and down. “I thought you’d be a little more stupid.”

He ignored the blunt remark.

“I just took what I felt like,” he replied. “Do I need to return these?”

“No. They were wasting away down there anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“Whatever.”

The owl turned away, giving him one last sideways glance.

“Use them well,” he said. “Don’t turn them into rags too fast. And make sure to go meet Caspar for a wash.”

Midi huffed.

“You’re covered in blood.”

He fluttered off without looking back. Dominic looked down at himself. His clothes were smeared with splotches of red, obviously from his previously bleeding palm. He sighed and moved towards the tower door. Caspar’s mana signature was coming from outside.

He emerged into the fog, his breath blowing white clouds in the chilly air. It was early summer, but mornings by the water were always cold. Perhaps that was part of why the way people dressed around Helwin consisted of so many layers.

Dominic followed the residual scent of paper and cooking oil that stuck to Caspar out onto the pier. There was another signature out there too, strangely, and they both appeared as he approached the end.

“Dominic!” Caspar called, waving from his seat at the edge. “You’re here.”

Dominic nodded and moved closer.

“You brought Silas outside?” he asked, glancing over.

The demon was sitting to the side, pretending not to have noticed Dominic’s arrival. A glowing blue shackle of mana connected him to Caspar, keeping the fog from getting to him.

“I thought it’d be nice to let him get some air. Did you come for a wash?” Caspar asked, glancing him up and down.

“Yeah,” Dominic replied. “My clothes got a little dirty.”

“I’ll fix it right up.”

The boy motioned with his hands, a blob of water rising from below. With a single snap, the salt and other debris separated from it, the color turning crystal clear. He moved it over to Dominic, swallowing his body and clothes, the bloodstains being sucked out.

“Okay!”

With a flick of his wrist, the blob of water arced away from him, splashing back into the bay. His clothes, completely dry, had been rid of the red splotches he’d left on them.

“Thanks, Caspar,” Dominic said.

The boy smiled wide.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

He turned his attention back to the water. He sprinkled chunks of mystery meat over the pier, feeding the voracious fish that lived under the waves. He’d been surprised at first that anything at all could live out there besides Caspar and Midi, but apparently the fog had little effect underwater. According to Caspar, the bay by the lighthouse was where the monstrous fish bred. The blood and chum disappeared between flashes of silvery scales and needle-like teeth.

“You seem to like the hatchlings,” Dominic commented, glancing at Silas.

The demon stared silently down at the frothing water below. Casper sprinkled another handful of flesh down into the waves, the water instantly boiling with motion again.

“I’m heading back to Helwin today,” Dominic said.

“…Why are you telling me?” Silas finally replied.

This was his last chance to stop him, if he desired to. But the silence stretched on with no signs of movement, and Dominic turned away from the demon.

“No reason,” he answered. “I’ll be going then.”

He put up his hood, pulling it down to hide his face.

“By the time I return, it'll all be over.”