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Destinies Intertwined by Fate	By : dreamingvision Category: +S through Z > Star Ocean 3 Views: 1286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Ocean nor do I profit financially from writing this

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
They weren't his eyes, Fayt decided, nor was it his reflection at which he stared.
At least, they weren't the same eyes he was accustomed to seeing in the mirror. He didn't even look like how he remembered himself. His hair was longer, touching his shoulders, and he often pulled it into a low tail to keep it from obscuring his vision. Lines creased the skin around his eyes, and the green of them was no longer vibrant or filled with excitement, anticipation, and life. The skin under his eyes had darkened, another indication of how much his life had changed. Such circles were the results of many nightmare-ridden nights where he closed his eyes for a few hours only to be reawakened by some horrific event from his past.
Fayt exhaled and averted his gaze from the mirror. Time had passed for him, but he'd not kept track of how much. With only the exception of the phases of the planet's two moons and the appearance of storms every few days, each day blended with the other in a hazed blur. The sun rose and the sun set, and each day he struggled with his guilt for all of the pain he inadvertently caused on Hyda IV and Elicoor II, and the nightmares plaguing his sleep.
Fayt had no one with whom he could speak to about his troubles nor did he dare find someone to talk to, knowing he was an offworlder. He figured he was one of no more than twenty humans living in the city of Kalinestria, though there were possibly more out in the countryside and across the planet of Iris VII. Thanks to his translator and quad scanner, he managed to blend in with the rest of the populace, to learn a few things of interest, but he'd also taken it upon himself to actually learn to speak and write the common native language surrounding him. He wanted a distraction from his problems, and he wanted to destroy the quad scanner and translator as quickly as he possibly could. Learning what he could, however, provided him with only a temporary distraction from the nightmares and memories, but it couldn't protect him from them when he finally closed his eyes for a few hours of rest. The nightmares that had plagued him after escaping the dungeons in Airyglyph were a constant source of agony for him. When he closed his eyes, the events distorted and magnified themselves, clouding his mind with darkness and robbing him of his will to live. He kept to himself as much as possible as a result, speaking only to those who required his attention as a healer, those he needed with whom he needed to conduct his business, and occasionally with the local fighting contingent. Fayt didn't wish to share his burdens with others nor did he dare take the chance. The inhabitants of Iris VII, due to their lack of technology, knew very little of the Executions reigning havoc or the Creator's attack on the universe. They knew very little of the worlds that lay beyond their world's atmosphere or of the myriad of races that filled it. They lived their lives oblivious to the wonders and perils the universe had to offer. Fayt wanted to keep it that way so he told no one of the troubles he'd lived through or of the battles he'd fought . . . or of the people who'd died because he simply happened to be there. The world of Iris would be better off.
For the most part, Fayt lived a quiet life or at least as quiet of a life as he possibly could, creating potions, herb bags, balms and poultices for the local population, including the garrison stationed in the city. He didn't want any extra attention on him. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to be hurt because of him, and he desired peace above all else. Once again, though, upon his arrival to Iris VII, or Iris, as the locals simply called their home world, Fayt found himself in the middle of a war zone. The battles had not yet reached the city of Kalinestria, but he knew a war raged all the same. Soldiers clad in glimmering chain mail roamed the streets, swords at their sides, quivers on their backs, and spears in their hands. Their metal boots often could be heard before the soldiers themselves were seen, each Elf walking with his or her back straight, shoulders squared, and a wary eye out for trouble. From what he understood and had seen upon his arrival to Kalinestria, the ruler of the city, and indeed, throughout the countryside, possessed a tower that stood above all of the other buildings. It loomed over the walls built to protect the city from attack, and it was how the local sentries knew of Fayt's arrival. They believed him to be from another part of the world, where the fighting had become the fiercest, not from a different planet completely. According to the one sentry, a smoky cloud of black and violet appeared, obscuring their views of the forest for several long seconds. Two of the local sentries were dispatched immediately, to scout the area and send a signal, just in case. When it dissipated, he lay next to a tree, and they initially feared a surprise assault from their enemies. Fayt remembered the conversation he'd had with the two who had found him.
"In a way," the Elf had said, as they'd ridden back to the safety of the fortress walls, "I'd hoped for a fight. It was why I'd rushed out with my partner as quickly as I did. The moment I saw you, I believed you to be bait, and I'd intended to end your life."
"So why didn't you?" he'd asked.
"Because you are the only one who arrived from that smoke," came the reply. "Our king will wish to speak with you. Make no mistake, Fayt. Even though you are alone, you could still bring harm to this city, and you will not be greeted with open arms until we can be assured you are no threat. I did not fail to notice the sword you carry at your side. I am sure from the sorrow that follows you that you seek nothing more than refuge, but the way you have arrived to our lands cannot be ignored. Do not take it personally. As I said before, war brews within these lands, and we cannot be too trusting of every stranger who appears."
"I understand . . ."
They had ridden in silence from that point, and he'd tried his hardest to keep his gaze upon his hands. His curiosity, however, won him over several times, and he'd often lifted his head to see a long and stalwart wall of dark grey approaching closer and fast. Fayt had half-expected to be thrown into a dungeon the moment they passed through the city's gates. It was what had happened to him and Cliff after stepping out of The Eagle in the capital city of Airyglyph. A lump had formed in his throat as he remembered his torture at the hands of the Inquisitor, his breathing quickened as the fear started to set in, and he'd fought back a shudder of revulsion. His mind had raced as he remembered every crack of the whip as it tore into his flesh, the relentless intensity in which the Inquisitor employed his task, the taste of his blood in his mouth, and the smell of dirt mixed with human waste after they tossed his unconscious body into the dungeon. Then there was the dark side to the Inquisitor, the one that always left Fayt ill, no matter how hard he tried to push the memories away or bury them in the recesses of his mind.
So wrapped up in his thoughts he'd become, Fayt had failed to notice his two captors had come to a stop and were ready to dismount . . . until the one he rode with touched him on the shoulder. Already in a state of panic, he'd fallen from the beast in an effort to get away from the Elf, bewildered and terrified out of his mind.
'Foolish! I faced the Creator and won . . . I shouldn't be this scared!'
"Easy, Fayt . . ." The man had stared at him, concerned and baffled by his reaction. He'd held a hand out to him. "We are here."
With reluctance and a sickness in his stomach, Fayt had taken the offered hand. He'd stumbled a few times after rising to his feet as they led him into the palace, a modest construct of smooth, grey stone and what he surmised to be strong timber.
The rest of the walk into the palace remained a blur in Fayt's mind. There were stairs. That much he did recall. However, his terror at his new situation had continued to overwhelm him, nauseating him at his own pathetic weakness. He'd kept telling himself he'd faced worse than a king and survived.
"Your Majesty . . ."
His two escorts had stopped walking and knelt in front of a dais with four long and wide steps. Fayt, too, had found himself in a kneeling position, his arms wrapped around his abdomen. He'd wished to be somewhere, anywhere, else than in front of a king whose kingdom was in a state of turmoil.
"Is this the one who appeared at the edge of the royal forest?"
A light tenor had spoken, and Fayt flinched as if someone had struck him.
"Yes, your Majesty."
"He is human . . ."
"Yes, your Majesty, he is . . ."
"He seeks refuge, I am sure . . ."
"Like so many others . . ."
The sound of clothing rustling had caught his attention, and Fayt had finally allowed himself a chance to glance at the man who the two Elves called king.
He stood as tall as the two who'd found him and brought him back to the city, the king. Fayt had expected to see a face as pale as the full moon on a starless night. Most royalty liked to stay out of the sun . . . King Arzei of Airyglyph had been an exception to that rule, but his palace rested against a mountain.
The face that had greeted him was not as pale as the full moon on a starless night. Rather, it had held the appearance of being kissed by the sun yet ageless. The king himself towered over Fayt, perhaps due to his kneeling position, but still undoubtedly stood taller than he, and his hair, long and golden, rested in a low tail on his left shoulder. Green eyes gazed at him with hints of mistrust and sympathy. A thick band of burnished gold and adorned with runic script and a solitary diamond in the center rested upon the Elven king's head. Much like his two escorts, the man standing before him wore a dark green tunic, dark brown pants, and soft, brown leather boots up to his knees. Other than the crown, Fayt would never have known the Elf towering over him was king.
"What is your name?" the king had asked, kneeling so his eyes could gaze into Fayt's, his tone gentler than it had been scant seconds before.
"Fayt . . ." A whisper had been all he could manage at that point. His memories refused to rest, causing him to shake.
"And why have you come here, Fayt? From where do you come?"
Fayt had lowered his gaze. A lie needed to be told since he'd known next to nothing about the planet. In his current state, he'd not trusted himself to speak.
"I . . . I don't know why I've come here," he'd finally managed to utter. "I don't even know how I got here . . ."
"I see . . ."
The room had fallen silent at that point, so much so, Fayt had heard the light breeze against unseen trees. He'd closed his eyes, waiting for the sentence he knew would come. A sigh had then escaped the king.
"There is much troubling you, Fayt. Worries and fears that keep you from speaking. That much I can tell." He'd sighed yet again. "Still, it is too much of the same story in these days. No one wishes to say where from they've come or why they've left, other than they are seeking refuge. Our enemies are great, always trying to find new ways to sabotage my army. I want to say that you are one such person and should toss you into the dungeon for your silence yet in looking at you, I do feel pity for you and for what you've endured. I've yet to meet a human who could truly feign as much fear in my presence as you are. Snow, Fai, please rise. I have made my decision."
"Yes, your Majesty."
Fayt had heard them as they moved. Their hands slid under his arms, and they'd brought him to his feet as well.
"Fayt, please look at me . . ."
Shaking, Fayt had obeyed. He'd heard the kindness and pity in the king's voice, but his mind had refused to acknowledge the fact the one before him could quite possibly grant him leniency. The king had reached out a hand, touching his cheek and wiping away something from his face.
"I am not sentencing you to the dungeons, Fayt. For some reason, my heart tells me it would not be wise, not with you in this condition. However, I also cannot find it in me to trust you completely. Your intentions for being here remain unclear. To that end, I ask a demonstration of you."
"A . . . demonstration?"
"Yes." The king had nodded. "A demonstration. I can tell from the sword you carry that you are a warrior of some kind. Perhaps you could show me how well you can wield it."
Fayt's eyes had widened. In those moments, he'd discovered the last thing he wanted to do was fight anyone. The last several weeks of his life had been filled with fighting and death. Without hesitation, he shook his head.
"No."
"No?" The king had raised an eyebrow at him. "This isn't a polite request, Fayt. This is what you must do in order to prove yourself to me."
"No . . . I won't do it," he'd said. Fear and panic laced his voice, and he'd wanted to run as far away as he could. "I won't do it. I'd rather you throw me in the dungeons than ask me to fight you. I don't want to do it anymore . . ."
"I see . . ." the king had murmured. Fayt had idly wondered why no one had said his name but his mind had focused more on the torment in the dungeons he felt certain he'd receive. The king then nodded his head, a slight smile appearing on his lips. "It heartens me to know you're not interested in fighting, Fayt. Still, I simply cannot allow you to roam about the town as you please. I still require a service from you . . ."
"I can heal," Fayt had blurted out. He'd felt desperate to do anything other than fight. "I know how to work with medicines."
"Is that so? That is good news then indeed. We are in short supply of healers . . ."
Those words had kept him out of the battles and the dungeons. Since he worked best with herbs and compounding all items into potions, Fayt remained in the city and operated his personal apothecary shop and house of healing, as it were. At first, he hadn't been allowed to work alone. The king, whom Fayt would later learn was named Avalon Silverleaf, insisted that the palace and city guards watch over him in shifts, to which Fayt had no objections. The only thing he truly had to hide from the king and the rest of Iris's inhabitants was from where he truly hailed. He wasn't out to harm anyone on the planet. Using the knowledge he gained from both his studies on Earth and from working with compounders on Elicoor II, Fayt felt determined to make some kind of a difference in the lives of those suffering on Iris. He knew he was overcompensating when it came to the potions, ointments, and balms he created, but his guilt over causing the deaths of Dion Landers, Ameena Leffeld, and his father wouldn't allow for him to rest. His mother also entered his mind, another person who added to his guilt. Fayt didn't even know if she still lived or if she'd perished in the attacks by the Executioners.
The sound of a metal jar falling to the floor startled Fayt out of his reverie, and he whirled around, blinking in surprise. Calm, pale green eyes stared at him as if he were the silliest thing to ever walk on two legs, and the three-tailed cat he'd adopted sat, tails swishing. Sighing in relief and shaking his head, he reached over and scratched the cat, a silver-colored and scrawny creature with dark grey stripes along its body, behind the ears.
"Good morning to you, too, Myuria," he murmured. The feline purred in response, pushing her head into his hand. Fayt couldn't resist smiling. At least the cat held very low expectations of him and didn't mind if he held dark secrets to himself. She simply asked to receive attention when and where she wanted it, food and water in her bowls, and a sunny place to curl up and sleep. Fayt envied her the simplicity of her life. "I'm sure you slept well."
After a few moments of ear scratching, which helped to ease the darkness of his thoughts slightly, Fayt picked up the jar and started the process of donning his armor. While the fighting had yet to read Kalinestria, protection was fast becoming a requirement for many of the merchants who lived within the city's walls, especially healers, herbalists, and apothecaries. Several had claimed to be attacked in recent weeks, and the claims, backed by the numerous injuries and occasional death, led to a widespread panic. Those who couldn't defend themselves hired mercenaries and free-lance fighters to protect them while those with more physical strength, like Fayt, bought armor and weapons. With a sigh of disgust, he attached his sword to his back. Myuria watched him with the mild interest only a cat could possess.
"Well," he said, reaching over one final time to scratch her head, "another day begins. I wonder how many patients the guards will have for me."
She simply meowed in response and leapt off of the shelf as he exited the room. Before leaving his home, Fayt checked her bowls – she ate better than he did – then he left for the day, locking the door and activating his home protection charms as a precaution.
The sun had yet to crest in the horizon as Fayt walked along the cobblestone street to his shop, but the path was still crowded as the city started to come to life. A pair of guards walked on either side of the street, their eyes observing as much as possible, while shopkeepers, bakers, and grocers prepared their shops for the influx of customers. Those who glanced at him nodded or waved a friendly hello, but they carried on about their business as usual. The overall feel of the day promised to be warm and bright, so much so as to offer the false sense of security that a war was not being fought. Fayt, however, refused to believe such a pretty little lie. He'd seen the devastation of war. He knew it could come and without warning. Keeping his gaze focused on the path ahead of him, he continued on his way until he finally reached the building where he conducted his business.
It wasn't much to look at, his little house of healing. A simple, two-story building with faded white paint on brown stone and curtained windows, those passing by it wouldn't recognize it as an herb shop and house of healing. Only the sign above the door indicated the building's true purpose. It was how Fayt liked it. While he often was inundated with patients, from young children simply scraping their knees to the guards bringing him the gravely injured no one else could take in, the simplicity of the building kept him from becoming too arrogant in his skills. It was true that he often succeeded in saving the lives of many of King Avalon's soldiers, but there were still some who died in his care. Some wounds he couldn't heal, despite his knowledge of medicines and his ability to use basic healing symbology. Still, Fayt tried, and his efforts, according to the ones he did speak to on occasion, were appreciated.
A wave of cool air greeted Fayt as he stepped into the dimly-lit room where he sold herbs, potions, ointments and balms to the general populace. With a war taking place, Fayt had decided, much to his chagrin, to keep his place opened all hours of the day. It helped a few of those who fled the countryside to the city seeking refuge and a livelihood. King Avalon offered a small compensation for those entering Kalinestria everyday, but the funds only lasted for so long and were meant for the refugees to find suitable, replacement work. In addition to the injured and the sick, those who desired to work would enter through the doors of his small establishment, and Fayt would have to decide if he could, or would, accept additional help. Such as how it had been since he started his little establishment. This day promised to be no different. An Elvish girl in her early twenties lifted her head as he entered. Arelia was her name, and there were several scrolls and books on the counter in front of her. Behind her were shelves filled with a variety of books, jars, vials, and pouches. Everything in the front part of the store dealt with healing. In the back were the rooms where the ill and injured rested. She offered him a light yet grim smile.
"Greetings, Master Fayt," she said. Arelia started the process of rolling the parchment and closing the books to return back to the texts Fayt offered for those interested in becoming healers. To Fayt's hearing, she sounded weary.
"Greetings, Arelia," he replied back. "How was it last night?"
"Quiet, mostly," Arelia answered, stifling a yawn. "Everyone is still with us, and all of the patients slept in peace. You're here early again."
"That's good. I'm very glad to hear that," Fayt said, relief in his heart and in his mind for his patients. Many of them suffered from life-threatening wounds. "And it's my prerogative to be here early."
"I know . . . Fortunately for us, the guards haven't brought anyone new . . . I'd heard the fighting has lessened . . ."
"There are always lulls in the fighting," Fayt murmured. "It unfortunately never ends until a compromise can be reached or if one side is defeated."
"That is what some of the older folk have said," Arelia said, her tone thoughtful. She returned her reading materials back to their proper places. Once she finished, she looked at him. "Do you think the fighting will ever stop?"
Fayt hesitated. Wars often ended after one side defeated the other or both decided to come to some sort of compromise. Rumors spoke of the fighting's intensity so neither side seemed prepared to give in to the other. The amount of the wounded treated in places like Fayt's testified to that intensity, and that was only for Kalinestria. There were other major cities in King Avalon's realm, all of which housed soldiers, healers, and civilians. In the time Fayt spent in the city, he'd seen how beautiful and lush gardens grew. The fighting had destroyed crops, but there was still plenty of food and clean water in the city. Whatever the opposing army truly wanted with King Avalon's realm, Fayt saw plenty of reasons to desire possession of the lands. He let out a heavy sigh, and the first wave of his exhaustion washed over him. His weariness added to the vow of the day being long and tiring.
"Master Fayt?"
"I think the fighting will end someday," he murmured. "It often does . . . it's just a matter of who ultimately loses in the end."
"That doesn't sound very cheerful," Arelia said.
"War isn't a cheerful prospect," Fayt said. He let out another sigh.
"Are you all right, Master Fayt? You look more tired than usual today . . ."
"I'll be all right," Fayt said, offering her a faint smile. He stepped behind the counter and pulled out an empty pouch. Several gold coins went into it before it found its way into Arelia's hands. "Go on. You're tired. I'll see you tonight, okay?"
"If you are certain . . ."
"I am . . . Go . . . Get some rest."
"As you wish, Master Fayt," the Elvish woman said, bowing. Money in one hand, walking stick in the other and daggers at her side, she left the building, closing the door behind her. Others would soon enter as well, young Elvish men and women hired to tend to the wounded and the sick so the ones in the rooms could return to their homes and rest as well. Fayt intended to have their pay ready for them before they retired for the day. It was going to be no different than any other day.
In the middle of counting the coins, the sound of shouting reached Fayt's hearing. Frowning, he hid the money and rose to his feet. He'd just stepped out from behind the counter when the door flew open, and two guards entered. They were wide-eyed, breathless, and more than a little alarmed. In their hands were the handles for a litter. Fayt's heart sank when he saw the head of an injured person, and the other two guards in the rear holding up the rest of the makeshift gurney. Labored breathing from the man on the stretcher punctuated the uncomfortable silence.
"Can I help you?" he asked. Immediately, both guards straightened and bowed.
"Forgive us for the intrusion, Master Fayt," the first guard said. "But there is someone who requires immediate medical attention. You were the first one we thought of . . ."
"All right . . . How bad is it?"
"We're not sure . . . he was found at the edge of the royal forest . . . the same place as you, according to the soldiers who found him . . . Please . . . we need to get him inside and report to King Avalon. There is darkness afoot, Master Fayt. We cannot delay."
"Of course . . . bring him this way . . ." Fayt motioned for them to head into the back area where the other patients were resting. Each patient had his or her own room in which to recover. It allowed for them to rest easier at night without a neighbor who might be in severe pain interrupting his or her rest. It also allowed for Fayt to check on them individually to determine the rate of healing and how soon the person could leave, either to return to the battlefield or tending the fields. There was at least one empty room, the last patient to leave a man recovering from illness. The first guard nodded, and they carried the injured person with as much as haste as they could muster without doing further harm. He started to follow until he saw the face of the man they'd just brought to him. Clear, icy yet pain-filled blue eyes stared in fevered shock at him with the same amount of shock as Fayt felt, and his heart started to plummet in his chest. Fear, cold and cruel, grabbed at his breath, and he wanted to drop to his knees.
'It can't be . . .'
xxX-Destinies-Intertwined-by-Fate-Xxx
Overhead, the sun shone bright, warm, and inviting. The light touched everything as far as the eye could see and beyond. Insects buzzed, birds flitted from flowers and trees, and wild lums grazed in a field not too far from the Kirlsa Training Facility. It was a typical day on Elicoor II, and it bored Albel out of his mind. Most of his planet's inhabitants weren't aware of the threat that had faced them several months prior. Though they had seen what the Creator's Executioners could do, for the blasted creatures had followed their master to Elicoor as he'd fled his own world to this one, only a select few truly knew the truth about why such monstrosities had come to their world. Many still believed it was because of the peace made between Aquaria and Airyglyph, despite the fact they'd been proven wrong once Luther had been defeated and peace remained with no further demonstrations of wrath. The Executioners had disappeared upon Luther's defeat, leaving things as they were before the fight to save the universe had begun.
Albel stood upon the ledge of the facility's outer wall and gazed at the familiar terrain surrounding him. A warm breeze picked up, brushing against his face, tugging on his hair and clothing, and he inhaled a deep breath, taking in the fresh, clean air. Life since Luther's defeat had returned to normal, and he, the undisputed best swordsman in all of Airyglyph and co-champion of the universe, was undoubtedly, inarguably bored.
In the hours and days following their victory over Luther, the first thing anyone had thought to do was search for Fayt. That had been at Maria's insistence, to which Albel scoffed and still did. It wasn't because he didn't care about Fayt. Truth of the matter was he did care about the younger man. He didn't care for Maria. She'd tried to take over, to compensate for the lack of leadership in Fayt's absence, but she wasn't the same kind of leader as Fayt. She couldn't read people in the same way, and she certainly hadn't figured out the troubles haunting the one she wanted in her bed. Albel knew of things that his leader, his true leader, had endured that Fayt believed to be secret. He tried to hide the feelings of guilt and sorrow, of filth and revulsion eating away at him, but Albel had noticed them for what they were in the days, hours, and seconds they started to consume Fayt, especially in the moments after Luther's defeat.
Albel grunted in annoyance as he turned around and leapt down from the wall. He'd wanted to keep Fayt with him for a little while longer than the time they'd truly had to be together, even though he knew the younger man wasn't someone he could possess forever. He wanted to pretend that he could, but Fayt was too pure, too innocent, and too powerful for a lowly worm such as himself to hold forever. Albel had sensed as much the moment he saw Fayt standing with the Aquarian women in Shelby's botched attempt to recapture him and that buffoon Cliff Fittir. The battle in which his second had been defeated had been fought on the stones he now walked across, the same place where Robert Leingod died to protect his son. Albel paused in the spot where the old man had uttered his last words and stared.
For the most part, Albel didn't have much respect for those who were soft and couldn't fight their own battles. The researchers Aquaria employed to create their runological weapons were especially weak and pathetic in Albel's mind, since very few of them had ever left the palace to fight the battles they had so desperately wanted to end. To learn that Robert Leingod had been like those researchers and witnessing how he'd still gone out of his way to save his son from death assured, well, Albel felt more respect for the deceased man for his actions than he did most others who still lived. In a small way, it reminded him of his father's sacrifice, and it had helped to forge a bond with the blue-haired teen in later days. He stared at the spot where Robert Leingod died (in his son's arms, no less – Albel tried his best to kill the urge to destroy something for how similar it rang to his own ordeal), nodded his head to the memory, and stalked towards the door.
Albel wanted something, something he couldn't name, he couldn't identify . . . it was a strange sense of yearning, and he believed it had something to do with Fayt. They did, after all, have unfinished business between them to settle before Albel found himself a suitable woman to wed and bear him children. He was the last of his bloodline, and he felt more than obligated to see to it that the Nox name remained alive for at least one more generation. He wanted to see Fayt one last time, to hold the younger man in his arms for one more night, but to do that, Fayt needed to be found. When it was clear Fayt wasn't anywhere on Elicoor – the fools on board the celestial ship claimed to have scanned every inch of the planet for Fayt's unique D.N.A. signature – Albel wanted to join Quark. If Fayt wasn't on the planet, then he had to be on another planet, perhaps even in 4-D space somewhere, and Albel wanted to be a part of the team searching for him.
That hadn't happened. While Fayt had led the group to fight the Creator, the fools aboard The Diplo saw Maria as their leader, especially that air-headed moronic worm Lieber, and Maria refused to break something called the UP3 any further than what it had. Fayt had been a firm believer in it, she'd said. Just ask Cliff.
'Right,' he snorted to himself. 'Like I would deign to ask that fool anything.'
Still, he couldn't press the issue on traveling with Quark to find Fayt. With Maria seen as and treated like their leader, threatening her wouldn't have gotten him anywhere. Like those Vendeeni creatures, Quark carried what they called guns. Cliff and Mirage were the only ones he saw never using such weapons to fight their enemies. Albel remembered wanting to wipe the slight smirk off of Maria's face for succeeding in thwarting him in what he wanted.
Since the day those fools left, life had returned to normal, which Albel found tedious and beyond mind-numbing. He trained every day, honing his skills with the Crimson Scourge, sometimes in Crosell's domain, but most of the time at the training facility. Both places afforded him the chance to be alone but not the opportunity to spar with someone worthy enough for him to test his skills. Too many of his subordinates still feared him, and Albel half-fancied they believed he'd be angered if they tried too hard to beat him. They were fools for thinking such things, if they were thinking such things. Since Fayt had entered his life and actually challenged him in a fight, Albel discovered he liked it. Then again, he liked and respected Fayt. The younger man wasn't a pushover, like those who served under his command. It was refreshing, and Albel wanted it back.
'Of course, I'm stuck here to rot,' he thought, his mood dark. 'Does she think she's the only one who truly cares about that blue-haired fool? There are others who want to know that he's all right.'
Foul was his mood as he stepped into the elevator. He wanted to kill something, anything, but he knew the moment he left the training facility, the monsters would flee without even attempting to fight him. He'd simply have to take his frustrations out on the sparring dummies left behind from the war . . . the ones that could be patched together anyway.
Upon exiting the lift, Albel paused, and his hand reached for the Crimson Scourge. The only ones who remained in the facility were the old crone and her daughter who prepared the meals. The remaining members of the Black Brigade had been re-stationed to the cities of Kirlsa, the copper mines, and the city of Airyglyph, to help supplement the Storm and Dragon Brigades and the losses they'd all suffered in the Vendeeni attacks. He knew that, aside from the crone and her daughter, he should be alone in the facility. His fingers slid around the hilt.
"Who goes there?" he called out, his eyes narrowed and a scowl upon his face. From the shadows a figure emerged, her gait all too familiar to him. His scowl deepened.
"What is that you want, scum?" Albel snarled. Nel smirked a little as she stopped walking.
"It's good to see you, too, Albel," she replied. "I see you haven't changed much."
"Bah," he said. "I don't need to change. Not for the likes of you, anyway. What is it that you want?"
"It isn't what I want," Nel said. She stepped to one side. "It's what they want."
As she moved and spoke, four more people appeared from out of the shadows. Albel fought back a hiss and refused to relinquish the grip on his blade. For as much as he was displeased to see them, only two seemed to echo the sentiment towards him.
"Hello, Albel," Maria said. She inhaled a deep breath, grimaced, and said the words Albel thought he'd never hear come from her mouth. "We need your help."
xxX-Destinies-Intertwined-by-Fate-Xxx
Light grey smoke from the incense cones curled about the air in a lazy fashion and filled the room with the heady, intoxicating scent of dragon's blood. Three torches lit the darkness of the stone room, and a set of stairs led to an altar with a bronze statue. The statue itself depicted a tall man, or at least he appeared to be man who towered over lesser men had he been constructed to stand instead of sit lotus-style, and he was slender, his ribs sticking out from his flesh, a short crop of hair on his head. A sword rested across the statue man's lap, his hands resting on the blade and hilt.
With a small, bronze bowl containing wine in one hand and two sprigs of an herb referred to as bloodbane, a man clad in dark brown leather pants, leather straps crisscrossing over his chest and back, and heavy-soled black leather boots strode with confidence towards the altar. Upon his head rested a thick leather band that braided into his stringy, long, black hair. At his side, he carried a set of daggers that he used when in battle. Like most on Iris, he was an Elf, and he was a high priest, not only for the city in which he worshipped but his entire kingdom. The items he held in his hand – the wine and the bloodbane – were his daily offerings to his deity, the Elvish God of War, Lukano, so that his country would succeed in her war against the inferior country of Golvaria, governed by Avalon Silverleaf. At the same his beloved country fought against Golvarian soldiers, Lukano waged a war as well. Those who lived in Golvaria worshipped an inferior deity to Lukano, and the God of War wanted their army annihilated and the people enslaved and ordered to serve Lukano. Because of the war, he entered the sacred temple every day to pray for such a complete and absolute victory.
The war itself started nearly two years prior when the statue of Lukano came to life, escaped from the temple, and ordered it to be in the center of the city for all to see. Since that day, the statue had come to life one other time to give him instruction on what needed to be done next. He complied with the orders, and his country, for the most part, enjoyed victory after victory against King Avalon's armies.
That was, they enjoyed their victories until several months ago when something had changed. The high priest didn't know what had happened, but the advantages had become less and less with each passing day and week. In what felt like an overnight shift, King Avalon's healing magicks strengthened and surpassed anything the high priest had ever seen before that. Those who should have died didn't, and they returned to their posts with renewed vigor, reinforcing King Avalon's ranks. It baffled him to say the least, and he now wanted to appeal to Lukano to change the tides back into his kingdom's favor.
When he finished with the ritual – burning the bloodbane on Lukano's sword and offering the deity the finest of wines – the priest rose to his feet. As he descended from the altar, he noticed another man standing in the door. The silk shirt and pants, the red velvet cloak and soft leather shoes, and the ruby-encrusted crown which loomed an extra two feet over a person told him who his visitor was. The scowl on the man's face indicated his displeasure.
"High Priest Saulron," he said. Saulron bowed to him.
"King Seltan," he intoned, respectful and curious. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"My impatience," the king retorted. "I had intended to summon you to the palace, but this is a matter of importance. I am sure you are aware that my counterpart has somehow unearthed some kind of miracle healer . . ."
"I have heard the rumors, yes, my liege," Saulron said.
"I am certain they are more than just rumors," Seltan said with a growl. "What has Lukano to say about such a thing?"
"He has not come to life."
"I thought as much . . ." Seltan shook his head. "And those I've sent to root out this miracle healer have proven to be more than just useless."
"And what does that have to do with me?" Saulron thought he knew what his liege was about to ask him, but he knew better than to try and guess Seltan's thoughts and moods. They were as fickle as smoke in the air and easy to change in the time it took to blink.
"You mean you can't guess?" Seltan scoffed then shook his head. "You are to head to Kalinestria and find this miracle healer. Once you do, watch him, learn what it is he's doing and report back to me before you kill him. Take away Avalon's advantage so that we might finally achieve our victory over his kingdom."
"It will be as you wish," Saulron said, bowing again. He didn't question Seltan's orders. Those who did often met with a rather nasty fate, and it wasn't in Saulron's nature to question someone like Seltan in any situation. His king wasn't like their previous one, content to sit on the throne and stuffing his belly until he'd become so fat his own legs wouldn't support him. Seltan, while cruel, was also shrewd and capable. Saulron trusted that his king knew what he was doing. Seltan nodded.
"You will leave immediately then . . . I have a morna with supplies waiting for you outside. Kalla will watch over the temple while you are away. Do not disappoint me, Saulron. Though you are high priest, I will not hesitate to end your life for failing me and Lukano."

bloodbane - an herb with a dozen tiny red blossoms used in prayer rituals, teas, wines, and flower-weaving

morna - a horse-like creature with long, floppy ears, two long-haired tails, and a horse's disposition
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Destinies Intertwined by Fate