Chapter Three

No sooner than he had lifted his mask above scarlet, sweat laden hair, an explosive sound tore through the night. It came from further south, so far as he could tell. The man’s sigh and dejected gaze caused hair to fall in front of his face, etching blazing lines of red across his light, freckled skin. A tinge of red glazed his light brown features whenever soft flames from torches in his chamber or the rays of a Mother Moon chanced a glance upon the man. An ever rarified event. He was the mask and the mask was he; his last decade had been spent wearing the mantle of another man. A glorious man.

He hoped desperately that the explosion was the real Mezir, come back for a holy vengeance. Upon all of them. The man would find out soon enough. He was keenly aware that there would only be a few short moments before someone came to his door asking for his presence or assistance.

The man looked into the mirror in his chambers with furious intent.

Mezir. He stared into his own dark blue as he thought the name.

Mezir. Mezir.

He willed as hard as he could, wanting so hard to believe the lie, but he’d known Mezir. He had known the man when he was but a boy. The true Mezir didn’t look tired or rough, never had patchy stubble on his lavishly handsome face. His adeptness with essence kept him looking younger, like all true Legends, while the man in the mirror had telltale signs of haggard age. The mask hid all of it though.

All the insecurities and daily pains his lies elicited were kept behind the estech Legend’s mask. The view from within was a view from another world; another being entirely. He had the wisdom, the prowess of Mezir, practically given to him. He would have never believed something like it existed on Noctra before The Fracturing; and for the last decade, it had been his. It knew him as he knew it and it helped him with all the difficult decisions. The mask kept him sane... as he could be. It had been the only reason he had recognized Amberosin on the North Port’s main road those few weeks ago.

The teardrop mask had tracked her movement as she ran away, caught the jump from one wall to another in a loop, and let him watch until it finally dawned on him. Amberosin had looked so different when he had taught her to jump like that. Making contact with the eyes of his reflection the man slowly slid the mask over his head and watched the tired, sleeplessly tormented fool, disappear. In his place standing tall and proud was Blancana’s living Legend.

“Mezir.” A gruff, muffled voice called through the door.

“One moment please, Heria. I’m not quite decent.”

“We’ll be here all night if we’re waiting for you to look anything near decent. Ehrm, Sir?” Her chuckle was deep and low.

Thank the Lords it was Heria.

“It’s still weird, isn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll keep that as a rule only when ‘important’ guests are around. Otherwise, no more ‘Sirs’, yeah?”

A quick grunt followed by a meager laugh escaped Heria on the other side.

He shook his head with a chuckle of his own and fixed his cape to look more rounded up top. Straight backed with a confident stride, the man left beside his large armed companion. Blessed with a few more hours away from his antagonizing reflection, he set out at the head of the full estate guard. Heria scouted ahead in the shadows, meant to meet with them at regular intervals. Though the walk was short, familiar to his guard, everyone was on alert.

Whatever awaited them was surely more than a few guild thieves running amuck.