The palace is actually further away than it looks.

After they’ve turned a few streets, scimitar guy introduces them to his Camel, Khamelot. It’s a pretty clever pun actually. The wooly creature has a colorful carpet on its back. Peacefully nuzzling the small patch of yellow grass that grew on the sides of a humble family restaurant. One of the young daughters comes out to give Khamelot a carrot. Before greeting scimitar guy cheerfully. They seem to be acquainted, judging from the conversation, he dines here a lot with his guildmates because she’s named dropped a few others asking how they’ve been.

Perhaps he isn’t so shady after all.

He even proposes them a ride on Khamelot, but Cyan’s still unconvinced. Although, he doesn’t reject the offer, so they’re sharing the seat while scimitar guy leashes them forward. Swerving a few more narrow alleys, greeting a few more merchants as they meander their way up the plateau.

On the half way mark, through the wet markets, they got gifted fruits by one of the farmers in front of his harvest rack. It’s one of the foreign blue ones that she’s never seen before. Big as a pear, but it’s rippled like a custard apple. Except the skin is thin as a grape so she’s able to bite through it. It’s funny, because it tastes like a mix between a blueberry and a strawberry which makes her think, it’s just a giant berry. Scimitar guy tells them it’s called a Sansan.

Has a cute ring to it.

Eating it however, stains her entire hand blue. She tries to wipe it on Cyan’s back. But he just swats at her with his tails. It instead, makes her laugh and bat at them, trying to smear the color on his fur. At that, he juts about more erratically. Almost baiting her to fall off Khamelot trying to catch him. He finally turns around to stabilize her by the forearm and compares her to a cat.

She doesn’t see how that’s an insult. Cats are adorable so she said thanks. It earns her a raised brow like he hadn’t expected that reply. Scimitar guy laughs at their antics and comments that they seem really close. To which, she proudly tells him Cyan is her first friend and best friend. This time, he calls her an idiot again and points out that she can’t have a best friend when she only has one friend to choose from. It’s not flattering. But she really doesn’t understand why, considering that she thinks, he seems rather happy to hear it. Maybe he is simply terrible at expressing his emotions.

Out of the wet markets is the town center. In the middle of the massive circular plaza, there’s a pyre being constructed. From another alley, camel carts are ferrying native tree barks to a shop where an elderly carpenter instructs his apprentices on the outdoor buzzsaw machines to cut them into planks before delivering it to local townsfolk that diligently piles them on the pyre to increase its size.

Around them, decorations are being hung, from palm trees to buildings to fountains. It’s a mixture of the Sandy Nile banners, Golden Eagles banners and other allied guilds that she doesn’t quite recognize. More road side stores springing up as they pass, tents perching and traders lining their wares in the flashiest manners.

Scimitar guy explains,

“We’re celebrating the summer solstice tonight. A local tradition for a year of good harvest and prosperity.” as they cross another arch, going even higher. Then he laughs,

“Although, it’s always summer and festive here all year round.” like he’s trying to remain humble.

She can tell its grand considering they’ve even brought out the elephants. Descending down the street ahead, carrying canopied seats over their backs, and tasseled triangle blankets on their heads. They’re led by a little farmer’s boy and his father. The boy, basket in hand, seems more interested in feeding the elephants apples than to keep them in check. But it’s not like he needs to because they’re well behaved. Holding each other’s tails in a line, with the smallest elephant right at the end. That and everyone meanders out of the way to make space for them to pass by, and so did Khamelot, cleverly moving closer to the sides without being dragged.

She can’t help but to part her lips in awe,

“Kusma is so cool...” before pulling the back of Cyan’s shirt,

“Hey, hey, let's come here tonight!” and she knows he’s intrigued too when he excitedly agrees,

“Yeah!” with sparkly eyes as he glances around. Looking at the draping banners overhead them draping shop to shop. These ones don’t have guild sigils on them, instead, it’s of a sun with squiggly rays. The ropes hanging them up are twirled with flowers. Ones that she hasn’t seen before. They look rather exotic, with blue petals that tips into cactus like spines and bright yellow stamens. Then scimitar guy explains they attract the crystal glow flies at night to illuminate these streets. And it only makes her even more excited.

She can’t wait.

The buildings eventually become less dense higher up the plateau they went. Now, with her line of sight cleared, she gets a bird's eye view of the town beneath as well as the ocean of gold sand it’s build on top of.

Calling it a town would be an understatement, because judging from the never-ending stretch of outer walls. It looks more like a massive city.

She now knows where the local guild has got their name. There’s a long snaking river running through the lands. Patching into oases that sprouts countless native vegetations of palms, cacti and flowers. Smaller residential settlements scattered about the banks further away from the center. In the north, a mooring tower, few kilometers out, is entirely built out of sandstone for the blimps to land. And if she squints, she’s able to see more travelers on camels coming from that direction. But they look like small little dots considering how far they are.

When the ground beneath them finally flattens, she notices, the structures around them have become much more luxurious. Sandwiching them in with grand arch entrances of marble and stone. Hanging huge banners above the expensive looking doors. It’s of the Sandy Nile guild sigil, only more detailed than the one she’s saw on scimitar guy’s hand, with the river and nearby terrain better reflected. Framing every entrance, is two massive pillars, sanded down perfectly. Spiraling all the way up to the tall rounded roofs, looking like towers.

Glancing through the establishment’s many opened windows makes her realize, they're passing a training ground. Beyond, there are adventurers sparing. The internal walls are lined with myriads of weapons, more than she’s able to count. A Magia field has been put up within the perimeters. It’s so chaotic, all she’s seeing is an explosion of colors. The lack of noise tells her it probably prevents that too. Then scimitar guy informs them this is one of the many wing-houses the guild owns. Introducing each one as they pass by.

There’s also a library, an armory, a potionary for alchemy, an archery range, each of them grand if not grander than the previous. She’s already forgotten half of the things he’s told them by the time they finally cross the wide marbled bridge. It’s directly above a steep vertical drop, leading to the river beneath. Running through the canyon like it has split apart the mountain.

Then she straightens her gaze when they approach the palace finally.

The gates are so massive she has to crane her head to witness the full majesty. The chimera statues guarding it however, is not as impressive. A hideous thing with eagle wings, lion’s head, bull horns and snakes for tails, wearing a necklace with a sigil that looks like the Under Oath’s emblem. Then she finds out the creature is actually just an amalgamation of all their allied guilds.

That’ll explain the atrocity.

It’s here where they have to dismount Khamelot and traverse the rest of the journey by foot. Scimitar man entrusts the animal to one of the adventurers standing guard by main entrances, saying something about returning Khamelot to his stables.

Through the front gates are when she learns roses can be grown in this climate. Although, the bush it’s growing from looks more akin a desert shrubbery than what she’s familiar with. Perhaps they aren’t actually roses. Considering that there are purple, blue and gold variations too to form flower beds. Surrounding water fountains leading up to the biggest building she’s seen in the place thus far. With countless rounded roofs of varying heights. Each sharpening to a point to fly the guild banners at the very top. Fluttering in wind.

There are more adventurers here, resting beneath palm trees, or reading on the marble benches by the ponds.

Scimitar guy escorts them to the main foyer, where the huge bulletin boards are placed on each side of the administration counter. That’s where they hang the requests.

Every flyer has a price tag and difficulty ranking on it. Ranging from a scale of one to ten. The schematics looks like the ones Killian’s passed her from time to time. Only then she realizes, the requests Killian picks out are incredibly petty. Some of the prize money went up to millions of dollars.

But the adventurers crowding before it blocks her from getting a good thorough look. So instead, she just watches them stare at the board in deep concentration, as though they’re studying ancient scriptures.

She turns to tell Cyan, it shouldn’t be that difficult of a choice. Just pick the ones with the bigger rewards. That’s what she’ll do when she becomes an adventurer. To which, he laughs at her saying, the expensive requests are obviously way more dangerous. Besides, the bigger missions are usually done in cohorts with others, so depending the size of the group, the money is usually split based on contributions. She tries asking how does he know guild dynamics so well, only to have him to divert the topic aside to something completely irrelevant as they meander through more arches, more corridors and more gardens. She thinks, she’s getting dizzy with all the turns they’ve made.

If scimitar guy ditches them here, she probably won’t know how to navigate her way out.

The spiraling stairs they’ve climbed directly leads them to an open room on the third floor. Draping with beautiful red curtains between pillars in front of the balcony, dancing gracefully in the wind. Outside, she’s able to see the tops of palm trees from here.

Scimitar guy finally halts, spinning around atop the huge circular carpet beneath a dangling crystal chandelier, he flares both arms to present,

“Pick anything you like.”

Surrounding him are racks of clothing and jewelry display shelves line between pillars. It excites her to immediately run to one, brushing her hand past the expensive fabrics. Cyan however, crosses his arms before his chest and reminds,

“Surely you didn’t bring us here out of graciousness.”

Lilith instantly tilts over her shoulders to persuade,

“Haven’t you heard? If someone offers you free stuff, you take it and say thank you!” it makes his eyebrow twitch, leaning forward to snap at her,

“That’s not how the saying goes!” but she’s already shuffling through the myriad of clothes. Darting from rack to rack, piling countless articles atop her forearm and ignoring the scimitar assassin’s chuckle,

“Right, right. You’re not wrong to say that I do want something in return.”

Cyan hurries,

“Then get on with it, stop sounding like a fucking rapist.” his commentary makes her laugh,

“How did you even come to that conclusion?” and wonders what barrels in his mind did Cyan loop through because he’s returning her an estranged look as though he’s saying to her, how dense can she be.

She elaborates,

“If he’s dated Wysera, he’s definitely that type, you know,” pausing in front of the bronze framed mirror to press clothing articles onto herself to see if it fits, “the type that likes to be bossed around.” she confidently states,

“In other words, he’s a masochist.” and proudly emphasizes, “a ma-so-chist, Cyan! I bet he has a thing for Satys too.”

Through the reflection, Cyan seems to be taken back. Blinking blankly twice and looking completely baffled for a second before he finally exclaims after registering in his head,

“How the heck do you even know that word!”

It was pretty obvious with the many girls Killian invites over on a regular basis. If she had to make a comparison, she’d say Wysera’s demeanor matches miss Tuesday the most. She just never understood why they’d liked him back, so she simply teases,

“You still have ways to go, Cyan!” feeling slightly triumphed after the countless times he’s called her an idiot.

“I don’t need a kid like you to tell me that!”

“And I don’t need two snot nosed brats discussing my private life.” scimitar guy sounds a little violated. Pressing two fingers into a side of his temple like they’re giving him migraines before diverting back onto the main topic,

“The bath is just behind the door.” he points to the double wooden entrance in the middle of two curtained dressing rooms.

“Get changed, and I’ll come get you when things are ready.” but before Cyan could finish asking,

“When what’s ready-” he’s already skipping down the flight of stairs like he’s had enough of them.

Instead, she’s more interested to run towards Cyan, elatedly pushing an arm full of clothes and accessories,

“Hey, hey! Try these on!” he has really pretty features, so these will definitely look great on him.

Cyan glances at the pile for a moment, before lifting a brow at her,

“Are you an idiot? You want me to wear something this flashy?” she really doesn’t see how it is flashy, considering there’re only black and gold in the color scheme so she pouts,

“I really wanna see you in them.” and puts on her cutest voice to whine,

“Come on,” and flicks him a pitiful upwards glance with her best puppy eyes, “please, please, please, please!”

He hesitates for a moment, before reluctantly muttering,

“Alright. Fine.” and takes the bundle off her. At that, she drags him by the wrist and excitedly runs towards the bath,

“Cyan’s the best!” she laughs picking her clothes off a rack that she’s flopped there priorly on the way and nudges the doors open with her shoulder. She hadn’t expected how grand the bath actually is.

It’s so massive, there’s even a tiered fountain right in the middle. Pouring water from the marble vases of sitting women statues circling the perimeters of the second tallest tier. Rippling the rose petals, atop the surface beneath.

Craning her head, she follows the curve of the ceiling, tall and rounded, three stories up and carved with more window arches at the top so natural light’s able to flood in. In fact, it’s so well-lit that even plants are able to grow, draping down the many decorative columns.

Then, she levels to casually discard the fresh clothes on one of the ornamental poufs nearest to the ledge. Proceeding to unclasp her axe, dropping it on the ground beside and dipping her thumb beneath her waist band, until Cyan stops her,

“What the heck are you doing?” she tilts her head at him,

“Stripping obviously. I’m not bathing with my clothes on!”

He argues,

“How come you always get dibs when it comes to cool things!”

“What do you mean? Have you seen the place.” she flails her arms about in demonstration,

“It’s big enough for the both of us!” spinning in a circle.

Then he gives her a look as though he’s honestly questioning her intelligence,

“Are you fucking serious?” she doesn’t get him, so she’s only tilting her head further. But it seemingly makes him more agitated from the way his tails are swishing. It reminds her of a cat that’s sick of being petted and is about to draw claws, then he facepalms. Like he’s just tumbled through a whole myriad of barrels in his head and now he’s speechlessly rubbing into his temple.

He finally sighs defeatedly,

“Do you really not understand physical dimorphisms?”

“Dimor-phisms?”

“How the heck, do you have such weird knowledge gaps?”

She ponders for a bit, holding beneath her chin and wrecking her brains hard.

It strikes her after a few seconds,

“Oh!” slapping her fist against an open palm,

“Are you referring to our physical differences?”

“What else would I be referring to?”

She shrugs,

“I mean, I already know you’re different from me.” does he truly think she’s that dumb?

“Wait...” he pauses to think, before flicking his eyes up, something’s clicked in his head,

“Could it be that, you don’t know men and women don’t usually bath together?”

“They don’t?!” that shocks her, “but Killian sometimes baths with Rosemary, and all the other girls he constantly invites over. And our bathroom is tiny!” she measures with her hands,

“Tiny, I tell you. You can hardly even move your arms about without hitting the shower curtains or knocking over shampoo bottles.”

At that, he gives her a smug smirk,

“That’s because they have a different type of relationship.” like he’s just one-upped her previous victory explaining, “friends don’t bath together.”

“Eh?” it makes her whine, “who decided that? That’s a shitty rule!”

He shrugs, “it’s a societal norm.”

“But it’s going to be so boring to have this massive bath by myself!” she pouts, pondering a bit before asking bluntly,

“Hey, Cyan. Do you hate the idea of bathing with me?”

It startles him back a little,

“What the fuck?” looking absolutely confused,

“What kinda stupid question is that, how am I supposed to answer that?”

But she insists,

“Come on, just answer me!”

“You’re joking right?” she’s staring hard into his eyes to make him understand she’s not,

“If a rule is shitty, then why do we have to follow it?”

He gives her statement some serious consideration, before admitting,

“I guess I don’t...” then he pauses, like he wishes to retract that, but instead he says,

“I suppose...” he sounds uncertain so she encourages with a committal gaze, waiting for him to structure his thoughts.

He finally does, after a few moments of contemplation,

“I don’t hate the idea.” he clarifies,

“But I hate that you’ll ask tons of questions.”

She isn’t getting him so she pries,

“What questions?”

Then he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment like he realizes he’s talked himself into another tangle so he’s now trying to figure out how he’s able to untangle. But she doesn’t want him to, so she maintains eye contact and applies more pressure with the looming silence. The air suddenly seems solemn when he finally puts the clothes, he’s been hugging the entire time, down.

Very skeptically, he relents,

“If you promise you won’t ask questions, I’ll show you.”

She’s too curious to back off now so she hastily agrees without second thoughts,

“I promise!”

At that, he reaches for the hems of his shirt to pull over his head. Revealing his torso.

Oh...

So, this is what he means.

Now she fully understands his reluctance. He’s riddled with scars. Bouncing her eyes over each one. They lack the randomness of battle wounds. In fact, the incisions are elaborate. Placed behind areas where clothes normally hide. Sharp, deep and clever. Especially the one running across his navel. As if a fish gutted for cooking. It makes her realize, someone’s intentionally gorged him open to inflict torture. Then she’s drawn to the dark bruises beneath the diaphragm. A blunt force trauma from the berserker.

No...

It isn’t just the berserker.

Judging from the lighter, fading colors near his ribs. He’s sustained injuries from their freeze tag practice too. She’s responsible for those. Learning that makes a pang of guilt stab her like a knife. Stirring an odd heaviness in her chest. It feels as though someone’s tied a rock to her heart, and it’s sinking right into the pit of her stomach.

That rock’s only getting bigger when she finds out, this isn’t all there is. There are more circling his thighs. The rough ridges resemble marks of a dull saw. As if, his legs were hacked off before it’s messily stitched back, so viciously, that even now, it hasn’t fully healed. The freshly formed skin still looks tender.

But it’s strange, because witnessing this, she thinks, she’s able to feel the pain.

They must have hurt so much. And she can’t help but to instigate,

“Who did this?”

It makes him snap at her,

“You promised you won’t ask!” she knows that, but his reluctance just makes her more insistent,

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s none of your business!”

He’s right... yet, she can’t help but to describe,

“But...it feels uncomfortable” clutching her chest, “here, seeing you like this, and not knowing why.” squeezing the fabric in front of it, it’s such an inexplicable sensation that she hasn’t felt before, like a thousand needles has just prickled her. Not even the memory of her family’s death stirs such an unsettling disquietude.

He scoffs,

“I don’t need your pity.” but neither is he understanding.

She leans forward,

“It’s not pity!” getting a little agitated, she attempts to express these feelings, “It's different from pity...”

He taunts,

“What,” smiling bitterly, “you feel sorry for me?”

That’ll just be reiterating. How is he so dense,

“No, you idiot!” she’s trying to understand it herself too, inching closer and reaching her hand out. It makes him retreat like he wants to put distance between them. That only worsens this disconcerting twinge. Suffocating her with each step he takes from her, so she closes their gaps,

“You could’ve died...” but he’s just backing off again, putting more distance and repeats,

“So what? Even if I did, that’s still none of your business.” she doesn’t like this; he looks as though he wants to bolt for it. It’s instincts that makes her grab him before he could,

“But I don’t want that. I don’t want Cyan to die.” so she’s being selfish when she tightens her grip. Pulling him into an embrace, despite he’s immediately shoving at her,

“Let go! Why do you have to be so nosy all the time.” she ignores his question,

“If you died, then I wouldn’t have met you.” she doesn’t want that. She absolutely despises that idea,

“And it doesn’t feel good. It hurts! Yet it’s so frustrating because I don’t know what to do to stop feeling like this.” she’s incoherently shot-gunning whatever comes to mind into his neck. Trying to understand, trying to make him understand,

“I don’t know what to do, Cyan. It’s so fun to be around you, that’s why, I don’t want to not have met you. I don’t want to not be able to hang out with you!” then she finally is able to put a name to it,

“It’s not pity, Cyan. It’s fear. I’m scared.” it’s deeper than anything she’s felt before, a terror that hollows her more than any desert scorpion or deadly test trials or map stealers they’ve encountered. She realizes,

“You’re important to me, that’s why I’m scared, Cyan!” like there’s a hole tearing within her. That’s what’s making her feel like this,

“I’m scared to lose you.” she doesn’t want to lose him.

He’s stopped struggling by now. Standing completely still, she’s able to feel his heart. It’s so heavy, she thinks, it’s thumping through her own ribs. But she’s afraid to look at him. Afraid to see the expression he’s wearing. Afraid he’ll shut her out. She hates this distance, so she buries her face deeper. Until she hears the blood pulsing down his jugular each time he dryly swallows.

Then, very laboriously,

“Idiot.” he sighs like he’s defeated,

“You’re so fucking selfish, you know that?” reaching a hesitant hand to weave into her hair as if he’s trying to comfort her,

“I’m not going to die.”

Unconvinced, she challenges,

“How would you know that.”

Quietly, he says,

“No matter how big of an injury I sustain, as long as I’m still alive. I’m able to fully recover.” he clutches his fingers,

“But the surficial scars stay forever, as a reminder of my weakness.”

She shakes her head, rejecting,

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are!” he’s just trying to trick her. Magia like this doesn’t exist. Killian’s taught her, no matter how skilled an adventurer is, they can’t grow limbs back, can’t replace missing organs and can’t resurrect the dead.

But Cyan attempts again,

“I’m really not.”

At that, she picks her head up to look at him.

His eyes aren’t wavering. Instead, he’s glancing firmly at her and explaining very seriously,

“I come from a bloodline of nine tail foxes.” she’s heard of them, they’re demigod tier Mythicals,

“So, this ability runs in the family.” but even she knows, that’s only exclusive to the Raven’s Death guild.

His next statement strings all of the information together,

“The guild leader of Raven’s Death,” he straightens his head to search far into the background. An emptiness in his pupils. Unable to sparkle, like he’s lost what he’s looking for,

“Is my father.” he’s trying to disassociate, finally admitting tepidly,

“And it’s also, my very own father and brother, that did this.” these words are so vacant, she thinks, it echoes, like wind through a tunnel,

“But I won’t die, they won’t kill me.” she can tell he wishes they did.

Pausing a little, he blinks the life back in. Bringing his gaze back to addressing her with a simple shrug,

“That's why, it’s pointless to tell you. It won’t change anything,” putting the nonchalant mask back on,

“There’s nothing you can do.” he reassures,

“So don’t worry.” it makes her understand why he’s so frigid. So skeptical of this world.

The deepest scars are in his heart.

Something ignites in her when she finally retreats, gripping at his shoulders,

“Do you despise them?”

Giving her a blank look, he studies her a little before abruptly flicking her forehead. Flinching her back and crushing her eyes shut on reflex. When she opens them again,

“Dumbass.” he forces a chuckle,

“You were going to pull a cliché on me, weren’t you.” before it turns genuine to figure her out,

“If I said yes, you would’ve gone,” he mocks her seriousness,

“I’ll kill them.” and drops the façade to continue noncommittedly,

“Or something lame like that.” trying to lighten the mood, “I don’t need an immature brat like you to do that for me.”

Hearing it from him directly just makes her embarrassed now. She puffs her cheeks at him,

“N-no.” and denies unconvincingly, crossing her arms before her chest,

“That’s not what I was going to say at all!” she breaks eye contact and flicks her gaze away,

“As if I’ll risk my life for you.”

Locking his fingers behind his head, he airily teases,

“Well, just moments ago, you were screaming to me how much you didn’t want to lose m-” throwing both hands over his lips, she stops him from finishing the sentence. But she isn’t very successful. Considering he’s parroting her irrational statements in muffles so she shouts over him,

“La-la-la-la I can’t hear you!” but it catches her by surprise when he pulls her into his arms. Laughing.

It’s the first time he’s initiated hugging her so she’s still a little stunned when he presses her cheek into his shoulder. He smells warm, like toasted marshmallows on campfire.

Then, she hears him sigh concededly,

“But thank you, Lilith...” as if it’s something difficult for him to address too, “thank you for saying that.” he mutters,

“You’re actually also,” with a very soft voice, “the first friend I’ve ever made.” and it only makes her smile foolishly when she returns,

“You’re lame.” and hugs him back.