The table was sticky and damp from spilled beer and liquor. A warm numbness flowed through Leor’s body, gluing him to his chair like an anchor. He lifted his iron lids, fighting sweet whispers of sleep, and tried to focus his eyes on Ceri’s many shifting faces. She swayed as she reached for another glass and slurred her words. She had lost her courtly tongue three helpings ago.

“Come — on, Leor. Is that all you got?” she hiccupped with a half-smile.

Leor snagged his cup and lifted it before hers. “Oh, please. You’re about to hang — I mean pass out any second.” He puffed his chest out with a grin. He hasn’t had a decent drinking partner since Gerald and he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip.

Clink! They kept their eyes locked as they chugged, taking large gulps of ale and even larger gulps of air. Now, the world spun and contorted. Every time he attempted to fix his attention on an object, it danced away from his view, taunting him. Ceri appeared to feel it too. She pushed the dozen empty glasses aside, rested her face in her hands, and groaned. Laughter broke out from his numb lips. Before he knew it, they were speaking like normal as if they never had that disagreement. No, more than that. His words and laughter came as natural as pairing lightberry wine with a fatty slab of steak. Patrons around them looked but he didn’t care anymore. To hell with them!

“You look ridiculous, Ceri! You couldn’t possibly think of out drinking me!”

“S-shut up. . . I can still — go on.”

Leor popped the cork off the last bottle of ale and poured them each a full glass, froth overflowed from the brim. “No need to push yourself, Ceri,” he said smiling. He worried he might have to carry her back. “Though I do admit, you’re one hell of a drinker.”

“Thanks, Leor.” She peered into the white, bubbling cloud that rested above the crystal yellow liquid. “It must be unsightly to see me so unladylike. I hardly drink like this.”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? I enjoy this Ceri’s company.”

She banged her fist on the table. “Am I no fun sober?”

“T-that’s not . . .”

“I’m kidding!” she laughed. “You know, Leor, you’ve spoken more in the last half hour than I’ve heard since Thalesia. I like you better like this. Your face is much . . . gentler.”

“Hm. I wonder about that. I’ve been told by — an acquaintance that I have the face of a rabid, starving dog.”

Ceri covered her mouth, fighting the urge to spit her drink. “That’s true! It’s no wonder Yoru clings to you!”

Half-amused, he settled his finished glass onto the table and leaned back in his chair. “And what’s your story? A drinker of your caliber must have a history of liquor. I’m surprised the church allows it.”

Ceri looked stunned. She sipped her cup along with her smug remarks, averting her gaze. When she had not given a response, Leor sat up in his chair and leaned his weight onto the table’s edge.

“Oh?” he said with a sly grin. “Surprise, surprise. The pure maiden of the church breaks the rules like us common folk.”

“I am no pure maiden,” she snapped, face red with anger.

A rock dropped into his stomach and now, he felt the alcohol burning beneath his skin, a sour reminder to mind his tongue when drinking. He did not want to repeat his mistake at Thalesia or anger her again, so he chose his next words with caution.

“So . . . why did you and Alden seek such a lowly mercenary to escort you to Lightendale? Surely, it can’t be something as foolish as wanting to see the countryside . . . right?”

Ceri took a deep breath before responding. “Perhaps that could be part of the reason. Lord Alden has always been rash, especially for someone of his title. Knowing my Lord, he’ll likely be offering to speak at the Dawn of Syvernia Ceremony tomorrow.” She cracked a faint smile. “As free-spirited as he may be, his heart was made to be a lord. Against the will of the church, he once took in a little girl, condemned as a Purblight, and saved her from slavers. That’s just the kind of man he is.” She smiled at that thought.

Leor let her words sit before speaking. He figured he might as well test her stance, with her being swayed by the drink and all. “What do you think, Ceri? Aren’t Purblights the bane of the High Lords? Isn’t it wrong to help scum?” he asked, watching for any changes in her face.

“Of course not!” she shouted without hesitation. “Purblights are not scum. They have done nothing wrong and yet people treat them lower than rats. Some of the High Seats even go so far as to ‘purge’ them from the streets in the name of our Lords. It’s vile and disrespectful. I hate those kinds of people.”

“I see.” Leor couldn’t help but smile. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell why. It felt as though invisible strings stretched the corners of his lips. The only other person he knew who shared his views was Gerald, and now, he could add another to the list. Then, he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and found Ceri next to him, her fingers toying with what looked like a gold pendant attached to a thin chain of equal metals, the cloak she received resting in her lap. Made of drake scales . . . how could that be? It looks as smooth as calm waters and thin like sheets of ice. The blacksmith must have been lying, he thought.

“Pardon me, Leor. The world is spinning too fast for my eyes. I need to rest my head. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.” He sat dead still like a ragdoll to give Ceri a proper resting place. The summer air set his skin on fire and he flapped the collar of his shirt to quell the rising heat. Panicked, he sought something to discuss and found the item Ceri held so dearly curious. “What’s that you're playing with? You’ve been touching that thing the entire night — earlier today too,” he said at last.

She held the pendant to his view. It shimmered in the scarlet light like a ring of honey kissed by a drop of blood. Upon closer inspection, it had jagged teeth along the rim, a malformed crown of pure gold made for one’s finger, too large for Ceri’s. Leor swore cryptic whispers came from the spiked ring, but when he sought the sounds, the ring was silent. What kind of ale is this, he said to himself, frowning at the empty glasses.

“It’s a forged copy of Lord Ludwig’s ring, The Storm’s Decree, and it’s my most cherished artifact.” She kissed the ring, reminding Leor of her prayers at the wolf den. “Don’t let the forgery fool you. It’s the highest quality replica out there and has been passed down generations amongst House Ouranós, from masters to students, from Lord Alden to me. Even Lord Ludwig was once fooled by the fake if Lord Alden’s word is to be believed.”

“All that for a fake?”

“It’s not just a fake! All the high priests hand theirs to their successors. It’s an honor bestowed upon the next generation of lords of Ouranós.”

Leor pondered the thought, rubbing his chin as smoothly as he could without shaking Ceri’s head. “Then . . . wouldn’t that make you the next Pontiff?”

Ceri let the necklace fall between her breasts. Her arm interlocked with his shuddered, gripping him closer. Though she had fallen silent to his question, he knew it pained her to think of the answer. Her quiet suffering stabbed at Leor’s heart for reasons he could not explain. How could it hurt him so? Has he gone soft? Mad? Questions he had no hope of answering, and yet something inside him wished to console her. The feeling pried at his brain. And still, nothing came to mind so he could only bite his lip in defeat.

Yoru poked his head out from the table cloth, sniffing the air, and leapt onto their laps. The wolfling’s weight surprised both of them. Was he always this heavy? He nuzzled Ceri’s free hand, pushing it until he was fully embraced, and gave it a few licks until she finally giggled and caressed his black pelt.

“Tsk. the wolf pup always knows what to do,” Leor grumbled.

The lingering aftertaste of ale soured on his tongue when he had gazed upon the bill. He had told the host to put the tab on “Lady” Maria and left without waiting for their approval. Now, they made their way down the twisting and sloping roads with Ceri coiled around his arm and Yoru hanging to his scalp. It felt like he was walking with chains on his ankles or perhaps it was the ground quaking. The air was filled with the shouts and cheers from the droves of drunks that occupied the many pubs along the strip, all brandishing their House sigils on silk capes, ragged garments, and shining metals. Even those who visited from foreign lands lowered their unwelcoming mugs to have a drink or two.

Silence sat between them again and Leor found himself searching for words of comfort. It was suffocating and time seemed to slow as the silence continued. He thought back to his mentor who’d on rare occasions bring him to neighboring towns to woo the local women.

“Women are like your blades. Treat them with care and they’ll respond. They are not tools to be used but partners. You need them as much as they need you.” his mentor once preached after being doused with a cup of wine. It made Leor wonder if his mentor was ever right, but despite that, he would disappear with that same wine-throwing woman for the rest of the night, leaving Leor to head home alone. Back then, he was too young to understand, but now, it made him want to hurl his dinner. Damn that old man.

With care. . .With care. “Ceri,” he said, at last, waiting for her to look him in the eyes. “Would you mind if we stop by somewhere before heading back?”

She looked at him perplexed but agreed nonetheless.

Walking down the busy strip, past crowded parks, and up flights of stairs, they arrived at a secluded circular plaza, overlooking where they once were. Moonlight and a stroke of lanterns strung along the rimming trees brought a dim, sapphire and orange glow over the center fountain. It was quiet with the murmurs of lovers and the trickle of water. Like the others around them, Leor and Ceri hid in the darkness where none would come to disturb whatever it is they did, away from prying eyes. He leaned his weight against the gray stone parapet and stared off into the moon’s brilliance. Ceri joined him, shoulder to shoulder while Yoru took shelter in their shadows.

Like caring for blades, he repeated, clutching Inazuma’s handle. “The moon is quite nice today, isn’t it? Here you could always get a clear view of it every night.” He looked over his shoulder at the shifting black figures. “I guess this place has become popular . . . amongst lovers.”

Ceri tensed at the word. Her reddening cheeks made him self-conscious, but he pressed on, the liquor provided him with baseless confidence.

“In my youth, I used to stand here and moongaze when my mentor left me alone for some woman foolish enough to fall for his charm. Strangely, it seemed many women were eager to play the fool.” He smiled wryly before submitting to the weight of his frown. “But those times have long passed. My mentor left one day without so much as a reason. All I have are these blades he left in my care.”

“Leor . . .” Ceri whispered, placing her hand over his. She looked at him with eyes filled with sorrow, or perhaps pity. The warmth from her hand lightened his thoughts. He returned her gesture, gently caressing her hand with his thumb.

“I know not where he went or if he’s still alive —knowing the old fool, he must be in some bar somewhere — but I cling to these swords to keep my promise. To return them if we ever cross paths again.” He squeezed Ceri’s hand with the care of holding glass and drew her in with his gaze. The moon and stars gleamed in her green eyes as if they were actual emeralds. “I may not know your history, but the ring you hold is a promise you wish to keep, no? Even in the face of death?”

Ceri stared at him long and hard, then nodded with more resolve he’d sensed from others in his line of work, gripping her pendant with her free hand.

“Then you shall keep your word, no matter what others say. Promises are to be kept. They are oaths we vow to hold till death. If you are willing to die for it, I’m sure you’ll hold your own even against the best apprentices out there. Alden must have his reasons for choosing you.”

The silence from Ceri made him wonder if his words were for naught and began to realize how drunk he must sound. Before he could turn away, Ceri held his face towards her and smiled wide, a smile Leor had yet to see, one that froze time. “Thank you, Leor, truly. I shall do my best to follow Lord Alden’s guidance to be a kind-hearted and just Pontiff who will reunite seven realms once more . . .”

Entranced, Leor gazed at her lips as she spoke, paying no mind to her voice. He heard only his heart pounding in his eardrums as he brushed her hair back and pulled her closer by the waist. Surprise then submission took over Ceri. She closed her eyes, inviting him with pursed lips. He lost himself in her features, the moonlight against her long, feathery lashes, the way her blond hair shimmered and flowed down her curves like a golden river of silk, and the plumpness of her lips. It was then whatever it was that possessed him took over and he pressed his lips against hers. The world came to a halt, their lips locked in a sopping tango, fighting for the right to lead, only breaking for brief moments of air before embracing again. An intoxicating warmth rushed to his head, making him feel light and tenseless, a feeling that satisfied him in a way alcohol could not. He had never tasted anything so sweet.

World ablur, they stumbled through the streets, hot and steamy with sweat, unaware of where they were or when they had left the plaza. The passion in their groin led them to the nearest inn. Leor handed a fistful of gold to the concierge and without waiting for approval, he carried Ceri up the stairs, sharing kisses to the neck and lips along the way. Passing the threshold of their room, he tossed Ceri onto the bed and stripped his clothing. By the time he removed the last of his fabrics, Ceri was already naked. Waiting. Welcoming. The sight of her set his groin ablaze. Like a beast, he fell to his instincts and mounted her, her womanhood drenched and slick. He glanced at her face once more, searching for her consent. She grinned and put his manhood in herself.