Argrave and Anneliese talked for a long while before Argrave’s hunger started to eat at him, and they elected to return. On the way back, Argrave’s Brumesingers greeted him, climbing all over him like a friend sorely missed. Argrave could almost feel their worry for him.

Their fur was growing shades darker. It seemed they had food enough to live well in this place. It was a testament to the Alchemist’s callous nature, he supposed. It also served as a reminder not to step out of line.

But after a time, Argrave left them outside once more, entering into the Alchemist’s home alongside Anneliese. As they walked through the halls of the Alchemist’s home, faint voices echoed through the halls. They cast a glance at each other, and then Argrave rushed towards its source.

Argrave turned the corner to where Durran’s body had been resting. Galamon was looking at him, evidently hearing his approach long ago. Durran—or was it Garm? —twisted his head to look at Argrave.

“Argrave,” Galamon greeted.

Without words, Argrave stepped up to the other person in the room. A pair of golden eyes watched him, the purple light of the Alchemist’s abode reflecting off the golden tattoos on his skin.

He stared for a long while. Eventually, Durran took a deep breath. “Garm is gone,” he disclosed.

The words hit harder than Argrave thought they would. Perhaps he hadn’t accepted it. Perhaps he was holding onto the belief that some strange miracle would happen. But now, seeing Durran standing, it was like he’d seen the body in the coffin.

“I am sorry for deceiving you,” Durran continued, looking at Argrave. His gaze shifted to Anneliese as she entered. “For deceiving all of you. But what happened… it was something I strongly feel needed to happen. And Garm wanted this.”

At that moment, Argrave recalled something his father had told him once. He turned his body slightly to the side. Then he rotated again, throwing a punch as though something was behind Durran. His middle knuckle struck the man right in the nose.

Take a stance, rotate your hips, keep your wrist straight… and punch right through ‘im, his dad had insisted.

Maybe his dad was right, or maybe he was lucky. Regardless, Durran’s head jerked back and his knees buckled, and he stumbled backwards before falling against the ground. Argrave stood there, still tense. That was the first time he had ever punched anyone. Durran wasn’t small, by any means—well built, tall for normal-sized people, but Argrave had downed him. His hand hurt, but he felt a strange rush of relief.

He heard Anneliese gasp, and even Galamon looked a little surprised. Argrave stepped forward. Durran already regained his bearings. He scrambled upwards, ready to fight. Argrave only pointed.

“Don’t ever pull anything like that again,” Argrave declared.

Durran rose to his feet, one hand on his bleeding nose. His wide eyes stayed locked on Argrave for a long time, and then he nodded.

“I don’t want to see you for a while,” Argrave lowered his hand. “We’ll talk when I’ve got a cool head. Right now, I’m feeling like doing something we’ll both regret.”

“…alright,” Durran answered, voice nasally.

Argrave turned and left, storming down the hall. Anneliese quickly moved after him.

Once they were a decent distance away, Argrave asked, “Why did I do that?”

“Because you were angry,” Anneliese answered.

“I already regret it,” Argrave shook his head. “God damn it all. I can’t be doing stupid things like that. He’s supposed to be another member of our group.”

“It may be a good thing,” she mused.

Argrave paused in the halls, turning. “How?”

“He may feel that he has been punished for what he has done. Subliminally… if this can be overcome, he would see you as a leader more naturally. After all, a leader needs to deliver punishment.”

He stared with a frown for a while, and then began walking back to his room once again. Once he passed the threshold to his room, he paused in his tracks, spotting the great Alchemist looming overhead.

“Refrain from that wandering again,” he commanded at once, holding Argrave’s report in his hand. “I do not need unnecessary variables in my observation.” He closed the book, then turned his head. “Regardless, your writing has regained some clarity. I expect you to describe how your body felt during that foolish outing.”

Argrave nodded slowly, feeling unsettled, tense, and angry. The second he wanted to hold Anneliese’s hand, she was already doing so. He found out her empathic abilities were nicer every day, it seemed.

“Garm said that he promised I would do something for you,” Argrave spoke. “What was it?”

Anneliese looked at him, evidently ignorant of this promise.

“You will stop Gerechtigkeit,” the Alchemist said plainly. “At any cost.”

Argrave took a deep breath, almost finding the promise funny. Anneliese had said he had chosen to fight Gerechtigkeit, that it wasn’t a responsibility—yet now, he was making a promise to do so.

“Yes, I will,” Argrave nodded.

If the Alchemist had a reaction to the vow, he displayed none. He held his hand out. His finger unfurled, revealing a set of black eyes with golden irises. Argrave flinched a little. Eyes made him uncomfortable.

“Who receives these? The head was not clear.”

Argrave stared at them, greatly disturbed. That was the saddest part of all, by his estimation. His throat tightened, and Argrave swallowed to dispel the feeling. The eyes seemed to have some intangible magic swirling about them, barely perceptible.

“Can I think about it?”

“’Can you think about it?’” the Alchemist repeated. “You query me seeking answers regarding something only you can answer. Do I have control of your faculties? I replaced your heart, not your brain, and even then both are yours alone.”

“I need time to think,” Argrave rephrased, feeling exhausted.

The Alchemist’s fingers popped as they curled, hiding away the two black eyes. He walked away without giving a confirmation, leaving Argrave even more battered.

“I think that’s his way of saying yes,” Argrave sighed, releasing Anneliese’s hand. He strode to his bed, recalling only now how filthy the place was.

Anneliese walked up, and perhaps noticing his disgust, pulled off the blankets. “I will replace these,” she stated.

“No,” Argrave stopped her. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

She held the blankets, frozen, then nodded. They both sat.

“Garm’s eyes,” Argrave said, shaking his head. “Christ. What a blow.”

“…they would be helpful,” Anneliese conceded. “He wrote a letter to me, too. He described them. Apparently, they’ll function as any other A-rank mage’s eyes, retaining their ability to perceive another’s magic, and moreover—”

“You can cast spells from them,” Argrave nodded. “He wrote the same to me.” He turned his head over to her. “A bit morbid, inheriting someone’s eyes. Since you remembered, can I take it that you…?”

“Argrave…” she looked down. “I am… not entirely sure I can…” he saw a chill run through her. “The idea of subjecting myself to the Alchemist makes me afraid.”

Argrave nodded. “Then put the idea out of your head. A good thing, too,” he noted, putting his hand to her cheek. “Elsewise I’d never be able to see those beautiful amber eyes again,” he said, trying to distract her with a compliment.

It seemed to work, and Anneliese regained some vigor. Argrave fell back to the bed, thinking on the matter. He pondered his eyes, then started to laugh.

“First I’m Black Blooded, now I’ve got golden eyes with black sclera… can’t get much edgier than that. What’s next, I wonder? Cursed arm? Third eye?”

Anneliese looked down at him. “I get the impression you do not want them.”

Argrave bit at his lip. “I stand out enough as is. With eyes like that, covert operations are… well, hell, covert operations were never on the table. I stick out way too much,” Argrave shook his head. “People might distrust me. Might think I’m possessed, or… inhuman, who knows?”

Anneliese watched him. “You feel conflicted. Talk to me,” she reminded him.

“I don’t know…” Argrave trailed off. “Would feel… very, very wrong to refuse them. A man donates his organs to me, I toss them out because they’re the wrong color? Talk about desecrating the dead, spitting on a last wish,” Argrave shook his head.

“Why not present them to Durran?” Anneliese suggested.

Argrave looked at her. “Garm never mentioned Durran,” he pointed out. “And… I don’t know. He’s very free-spirited. I’m not sure if… well,” he trailed off, but Anneliese nodded understandingly.

“Do you recall Helmuth?” Anneliese questioned. “The man had eyes like purple vortexes, as I recall.”

Argrave leaned up quickly, clarity coming to him as soon as she posed the question. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” he nodded. “I can just say it’s because I’m a spellcaster. Handwave things away, call it magic,”

“Indeed,” she nodded. “It will certainly take some… getting used to, nonetheless.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine what it’s like, perceiving magic.” Argrave shook his head. “Honestly… now that I think about it… a little exciting, honestly.”

“I referred to my own adaptation,” she shook her head. “I fear I will recall Garm when I look at you.”

“Look on the bright side,” he said cheerily. “These weren’t my eyes to begin with.”

She was taken off guard and laughed. “One way to look at things…”

#####

“You will have them?” the Alchemist questioned. “Annoying.”

Argrave frowned, but had regained his bearings and did not so easily ask questions as he had in days past. He didn’t care to push his luck.

The Alchemist stepped around Argrave’s bed. A day had passed, and the place had become much cleaner. The couch that Anneliese had been sleeping on had been moved away. She didn’t need to sleep there, anymore… although Argrave wasn’t sure either of them were ready to do more than actually sleeping. He had been concerned he might thrash in his sleep and disturb her, but their night was peaceful.

“I will not suffer yet more variables to disrupt my observation of your body. I will implant the eyes when the process is done… meaning I must preserve them until that time. A taxing, laborious task. Annoying,” he repeated.

Argrave said nothing, lowering his head.

“The worst of your metamorphosis is over,” declared the Alchemist. “You may thank the blood of Vasquer flowing within you. Feathered serpents have magic in their blood innately—in other such bloodlines it manifests as a high affinity for magic, generally. Here, it made your transition faster, easier, it seems. Something to note for the future. It may be a correlation, not a causation.” The Alchemist shook his head. “Unfortunately, I can conduct no more tests.”

Argrave brightened at the Alchemist’s words, then paled when he realized what he’d been through was ‘faster,’ and ‘easier.’ If he had not been a Vasquer, what would things have been like, he wondered?

“I think you will fail against Gerechtigkeit,” the Alchemist said. “But everyone you brought is very confident in you.”

The words were unexpected—frankly, Argrave wouldn’t have believed they came from the Alchemist had he not seen the man’s mouth rise and fall and voice them.

“I don’t think I will,” Argrave shook his head. “But that’s why I have to use my words. Make others aware, get them to finish things for me just in case. It’s my specialty,” Argrave smiled.

“The calamity changes every millennium,” the Alchemist said.

“I know,” Argrave nodded. “It’s changed greatly from last time. It’s sowing dissent. Targeting leadership, my… family… being the primary examples. Gerechtigkeit plays the puppet master. It’s using us for its own end. Has been for years, now.”

“Hmm,” the Alchemist turned away. “Then it learned.”

“And just as we won’t fight it alone… it won’t fight us alone,” Argrave stated seriously. “When the time comes, I will ask you to help us.”

The Alchemist put his hands behind his back, staring down at Argrave. Maybe it was a delusion, but the ivory-skinned monstrosity seemed the most human he ever had. As he always did, the Alchemist left seemingly mid-conversation, leaving Argrave feeling as disconcerted as ever.