Sparks flew as steel met steel, the one opponent not holding back his strength as he lashed out at the other. Their movements are swift, and it would appear as though they were evenly matched, but Bomin can see otherwise. Keegan is noisy as he swings his sword, either grunting or shouting as he tries to keep from making a mistake. Meanwhile, Warden is very composed, hardly sweating, unlike his counterpart, whose clothes are soaked through. With a simple deflection, Keegan's blade bounces back, and Warden takes advantage of the opening to kick the boy square in the chest. Keegan goes flying, his back hitting the earth with an audible thump. The yell of frustration was loud enough that Bomin winced.
His son has been sparring with Warden for several hours, having only taken a brief rest to eat lunch before resuming immediately afterward. Keegan has been following this regimen for days, and Bomin could not help but feel disheartened. It is good that his son is taking the upcoming ceremony seriously, but the rift that manifested between him and Cian is palpable. Bomin cannot call it animosity on Keegan’s part. He had made a point when he said they would only be giving an advantage to the other if they sparred together. When it comes to fighting, it is always best to keep one’s opponent in the dark about any hidden talents one might have. That is what Keegan hopes to do: obtain a new technique his brother has never seen him perform before.
Keegan rocked back on his shoulders, swung his legs overhead, and with a sharp push from his arms, flipped up onto his feet in one swift motion. He twirled his sword before taking an offensive stance and charging at Warden once again. The older man is almost lackadaisical as he steps out of the way of the attack and hits Keegan in the back with the hilt of his sword. Not easily cowed, Keegan goes for a spinning strike, only to lose balance as Warden swipes at his legs. Bomin watches for a moment more before walking away from the long sparring session.
His son is behaving smartly by keeping his distance from Cian, yet Bomin knows that cannot be the entire reason. Keegan is angry at his brother and his father, and it would be a lie to say that Bomin does not feel guilty; the emotion weighs on him like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He stands by what he had told Cian, and it may make him seem like a terrible father, but he has always favored the boy, despite his flawed integrity.
Cian is someone who can strike up a conversation with anyone and immediately deem that person a friend. If they need help, he would give the clothes off his back. The servants adore him because he allows them to conduct their duties, but at times, he will help them to do so. It would always put them in a tizzy, since they deem it improper to have their young Scion working alongside them. Cian did not care about propriety, and what is more, he is wonderful with small children. He had been an eager aid to his mother whenever his younger siblings were born, playing with the babies and dutifully feeding them, protecting them. His only aversion was changing soiled diapers.
In contrast, Keegan can offer formal respect to anyone and lend a helping hand when asked, yet he is never compelled to do so of his own volition. It is not that Keegan is indifferent to the plight of others; he is just more concerned with the well-being of his family. Such devotion is a fine attribute for any man to have, yet Keegan always takes it a step too far. Both of his sons are imperfect, although one is less so than the other. Then again, Bomin is being hypocritical, is he not?
When the Vale boy was injured, he had told Warden to investigate to see if his sons were telling the truth. Cian had been calm and collected as he told what happened, but the same could not be said about his brother. Keegan used to be all tells and no mystery, and he idly wonders if that has changed. It was because of his shifting eyes that Bomin needed to know the truth, and what Warden brought back was a simple report. “They said he fell on the rock after Keegan pushed him, yet the rock has blood underneath it instead of on top. It’s possible the rock could have flipped over as they checked on Merrin.” Warden had given his Scions the benefit of the doubt, his loyalty to them shining at the forefront, and he would never purposefully think ill of them. Bomin, on the other hand, had no such luxury. His sons had lied to his face, and yet…he kept the deceit to himself and told Warden to let the matter rest.
Bomin is truly a fool.
Decisions and mistakes. The righteous path and the sinful one. What Bomin desires is to be better than how his father was, to be what his brother would have been. As he continues to compare his eldest sons and contemplate their respective futures, he feels older, yet no wiser. Heaven help his children because the yoke of leadership and fatherhood can sometimes be choking, and if one stumbles, they bring down more than just themselves.
—————
“If he throws a concentrated form of capsaicin in your eyes, then pour the milky colored vial over them while keeping them open. I’ve created a few because if memory serves me correctly, Keegan aims to blind his opponents first before moving in to attack them.” Cian had his head down sideways in the crook of his arm while he idly rolled the vial Alma just gave him between his palm and the table. The liquid sloshed around, little bubbles forming as it did so. “That’s fifteen vials and two syringes I’ve provided for you, and still it doesn’t feel like enough.”
Cian gave a noncommittal hum. He is in the Tenshi household, a two-story building, where the downstairs serves as the family’s pharmacy, and the top floor is their living quarters. They also have a cellar underneath their home, where they store many of their ingredients that require cooler conditions, as well as their more valuable medicines. Currently, they are located in the rear of the pharmacy, where they compound pills or create vials of liquid medication.
He has come to Alma’s home, having beseeched her to aid him against Keegan in the upcoming fight. His brother’s talents with poisons would be unrivaled if not for her, her studies in medicine having put the two on equal footing. What information Keegan had shared with Halo had been thoroughly reviewed by Alma, and she had grown so interested that she wound up corresponding with Keegan. They shared their insights on the subject matter, and Cian could recall when Keegan had amusedly told him that Alma wished to engage in a friendly competition. One would brew a toxin, the other would counter it. They would then swap, with one offering a cure and the other crafting a poison to bypass it. Cian had never seen Keegan so heated with frustration as when Alma matched his ingenuity each time, and when their competition ultimately ended in a draw,
He stopped rolling the vial and took to spinning it in circles, making guesses within his head as to what it would land on. “Are you paying attention, Cian?” Alma asked with a huff. “Remember you’re the one who sought me out for help.”
“Yellow for sleep and hallucinating powder, red for sickness, white for capsaicin, purple for any toxin I can’t recognize, and the syringes have epinephrine should I find my strength waning,” Cian responded while continuing to play with the vial. “I’m listening.”
For a moment, things went quiet, and he thought Alma might have left to fetch more ingredients, but then a chair moved, and she sat next to him, mimicking how he lay his head. He moved the vial out of the way, finding Alma’s eyes studying him. “This is the first time I’ve ever witnessed you so docile. As much as I complain about your overzealous antics, I don’t like seeing you like this. Like a wilting flower during a summer drought. What is wrong, Cian?”
He held Alma’s gaze and did not appreciate the concern within it. In ten parts seriousness, and ninety parts to be dramatic and reassure the young girl before him, Cian swiftly stood up. He leaned back, clutching the back of his chair for support, and tossing the back of his other hand over his eyes. “My brother loathes me!” Cian exclaimed. He had effectively startled Alma, but also incidentally woken the man sleeping in the corner.
Kumo is another in the Lamb’s Guard, held in high esteem for his efforts in the war, and holder of the title Barquero no Yomi. He sits with his back against the wall, with one knee crossed and the other bent toward him to rest his head against. He is clothed in an outer robe that falls freely around him, but the robes underneath are more form-fitting. They appear black, but when they catch the wind and the sun's rays, they shift to dark violet, yellow, and white. His long, charcoal-gray hair covers his face, since he never ties it back, he consistently has to push his locks out of the way. Although he will leave them be when sleeping, because they act as a shade against an offending light.
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He has been shadowing Cian, offering his wisdom as a soldier for his young Scion’s disposal, and Cian found him to be a fantastic sparring partner, even more adept than Warden. There is a peculiar thing about Kumo, something that offsets his established reputation; he is aloof, a drifting cloud as it were. His instruction can be captivating, but his words will eventually taper off, and half the time, Cian believes the man’s conscience has left him as he looks lost in a daydream. Kumo also holds a great fondness for sleep, his closed eyes a staple of his appearance. They are open now, the usual haze of his crimson eyes gone as he tries to ascertain if his Scion is in trouble.
“Young Scion, it's ill appropriate to startle me half to death, and it's worse to do it to Ms. Tenshi,” Kumo admonished after seeing no immediate threat, yet he did not seem particularly phased as his head dropped forward and he fell back to sleep. Unlike Alma, who, once she recovered, slapped Cian on the leg. “What is wrong with you?” she said evenly, although her voice held evident agitation. Both reactions were enough to cause Cian to smile, and he slid his hand up to peek at the fuming Alma. “Something, apparently, if Keegan doesn't want to spend time with me.”
Alma huffed, getting to her feet to begin packing away all the items she wished to give to Cian. “I thought he didn't want either of you to have an advantage over the other? Isn't it better to train alone than give your secrets away?”
Cian slumped back into his seat, propping his chin on his palm. “I’m not disagreeing on that front. What I dislike is that, outside of training, he won't join me in anything. I've invited him fishing, boar hunting, to the theater, to a game of hide and seek, and every time he declines my offer. Destin and Bedisa can be the ones asking him to play with us, and he'll still say no.”
Alma organized the final syringe in the pack she had been preparing for Cian. The pack features a strap that can be worn around the waist, like a belt, or across the chest. It is very much similar to the one Keegan owns, and Alma wonders what his reaction will be upon seeing Cian in it during the fight. “I suppose that is odd, considering you two are like fire and smoke. You can't have one without the other.”
Cian is accustomed to Keegan's unforgiving nature. What he is not accustomed to is being on the receiving end of it, and to say it did not wound him would be a lie. To also say he was not a little mad with his uncle would be another lie. He despised the events happening in his life. “I can't even persuade him to come with me to see an illusionist,” Cian said despondently. “And Keegan adores those.”
The human eye can be easily fooled, and perceptions can be toyed with by simply dazzling the viewer. A refined art form for the skilled showman, sleight-of-hand artists, stagecraft tricksters, or as they are broadly known, illusionists. Magic is but a fable, yet illusions offer a taste of what it would be like if magic were real. That is why illusionists are among the most popular entertainers. The last time Cian saw one was when he was much younger and the circus had visited the city. It had been a swell time watching the different acts put on by the various performers. Jesters, acrobats, animal tamers, dancers, and many more brought delight to the people, yet the grand finale was always an illusionist. The one Cian had seen appeared on stage after a ball of fire ignited and dissipated, revealing the man. It had been an incredible spectacle that he wanted to witness again.
“I can go with you,” Alma offered. “It's been such a long time since I've gone to any show, and Teacher Ebenezer recently granted me leisure time.” Since her return home, Alma has resumed her apprenticeship under Archdoctor Ebenezer and has been able to provide more services due to her education. She is a hard worker and has been seeing numerous patients throughout the months, some local and others from small towns, who need the specialties above a physician’s. Without intervention, Alma is someone who can work herself to death—so a reprieve would do her well. Besides, Cian will have more fun with a friend.
“Fantastic! It's tomorrow evening, and Kumo and I will come here to walk with you.”
Alma giggled. “I didn't know you needed his input on illusions. Do you think Keegan is going to utilize their tricks in the fight?”
“The opportunity to learn is everywhere, Ms. Tenshi, “Kumo said. The man’s head was still resting against his knee, and not a moment later, a light snoring sounded from his direction. Alma let out a hearty laugh and then handed the pouch to Cian, although she retained a light grip on it. “Make sure to keep these safe and hidden. I’m not claiming Keegan would try tampering with the vials in any way, but I’m also not claiming he wouldn’t.” She let go, and Cian gave her a bow of his head in gratitude.
“You’re something special, Alma!”
There is a window in the room they are in, and merely to rile up the girl, Cian runs over to it, sliding it open. “Thank you for all your help, and we’ll see you tomorrow!” Cian exclaimed, casually tossing the pouch up and down in his hand. Alma’s face grew stoic, a sure sign she was getting angry, and before she could say anything, Cian jumped out the window. His laughter could be heard as he ran down the street, Kumo following after, having left his corner without anyone noticing.
—————
The theater is shrouded in near darkness, lit only by the dim, flickering glow of the cressets lining the stage. Smoke coils along the floor like an early morning mist, intensifying the mystic atmosphere that has plunged the awaiting audience into silence. Cian’s eyes are fastened on the center stage, searching for any hidden movement, when he glimpses something, and his heart begins to hammer in anticipation.
A massive silhouette slithers through the wisps of smoke. It is formless at first, its movements not dissimilar to the dancing of the flames. Murmurs ripple through the audience as the silhouette begins to take shape, and the shadow it casts passes over their faces. For a brief moment, the form it takes reminds Cian of something he had seen before, but he could not quite place it. The memory dances at the edge of his mind, yet is gone in an instant once the form shifts.
The silhouette contorts and recoils, molding itself into what is recognizably an enormous serpent, possibly four meters in length. Its dark scales almost absorb the light of the fires as it slowly glides across the stage with a hypnotic grace. From where Cian sits, he is curiously startled when he notes that the serpent's eye sockets are empty, and judging by the light gasp from Alma, she is not the only one perturbed by the scene. Somehow, it felt as though the serpent could see them and was sizing each individual, all without any eyes. Then the creature stilled, its snout pointing in Cian’s direction, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.
The serpent rears and coils, as if preparing to strike, causing Cian to believe it had chosen him as its meal. He thinks Kumo stiffens on the opposite side of him, but he becomes distracted when the creature shudders violently. Something is wrong. It twists, spasms, and convulses before there is a horrible ripping sound as its body bursts apart. It ruptures into shreds of blackened flesh and smoke. A woman screams and some spectators stand up thinking the visera would land on them, but nothing of the sort happens. All that is happening remains on stage…and from the chaos, a figure rises.
She stands tall, poised like a sculpted statue. Her long, charcoal-gray hair is swept into a high bun, fastened with jade pins carved into the shapes of more serpents. A few loose strands frame her face, softening its striking structure. Her features are refined, with smooth caramel skin, high cheekbones, and crimson eyes, long-lidded and sharp. She is clothed in flowing robes of gray, deep purple, and blue. A thin sash is tied at her waist, accentuating her slender form without ornament.
The audience is baffled, slightly frightened, but returns to their seats, now infatuated with this beautiful illusionist who has captivated them with her entry. She turns, slowly, deliberately, toward the remains of the serpent. With a subtle flourish of her hands, the people watch as the pieces begin to stir. Shadows coil in reverse. Smoke spirals inward. Bone and scale start to reassemble with unnatural precision.
The serpent reforms.
It lifts its head and lets out a low hiss, not of menace, but of recognition. The illusionist steps forward and places a foot upon the creature’s lowered head. In perfect unison, the serpent rises, lifting its master high in the air. Boom! An explosion of flames and sound tears through the stage like a mighty firework. The cressets bloom alive, their fires roaring to bathe the illusionist in firelight as she stands above all, silent, and commanding.
An eruption of applause filled the theater. “That was merely her entrance! Imagine how the rest of her act will be,” Alma said, her tone holding a childish glee to it. Cian smiled at her, giving nothing away as he did not want to disrupt her good mood. Kumo is also clapping, his stance ever relaxed, and…a farce that only Cian can identify. The man is attentive because, since her appearance, the woman has been staring at Cian. It is a subtle thing, and maybe it was not his imagination that the serpent had been doing the same.
The moment is broken when the audience quiets down and the illusionist settles into her act. One amazement after another distracts Cian, and soon enough, Kumo’s stance is more at peace. The woman does not look Cian’s way again, and when he thinks about it, she could have placed him as the patriarch’s son. Many performers who travel through Fallen Petal like to win the favor of the patriarch and his family, if only to make it easier for them to stop in the city next time around. Bomin evaluates them to ensure nothing indecent is being shown at the theater, so if his uncle had allowed this illusionist to stay, she would be no one to be concerned about. Cian enjoys the show, unwilling to have it be spoiled, because in only a few days, he would be traveling with his uncle and brother to Faux Point. He preferred his mind to be filled with pretend magic rather than the apprehension at having to fight his brother.
