He tightened his grip on a spear whose edge he doubted. Why wouldn’t he, given how abstract everything was when inside one’s soul? And that silhouette in front of him, an embodiment of hatred he had managed to expel from the shadow, was also the very incarnation of the unknown, which in Avaln’s mind took on an immense strength given his utter lack of…

Of everything.

His vision blurred, and his consciousness wavered as a flow of exhaustion suddenly washed over him. A part of him understood, however. Whatever it was he achieved during his link with that creature, it had cost him something; and now, as that hatred lounged itself at him, Avaln couldn’t but wonder if the cost wouldn’t be…

Everything.

He wanted to dodge, to move, to parry, to put the damn spear in front of him, to show some modicum of defense in front of adversity… and so, out of pure sheer will, his hands went white and thrust the spear forward. He wasn’t aiming, he wasn’t even able to see anything through that fog numbing his mind, and so his action was the result of his untainted wish to live…

He didn’t know what he expected to happen.

Yet it was definitely not what he saw next.

“How…?” He muttered in disbelief, the weapon fading from his hands, his nerves still on edge. Yet the question was rhetorical, even to himself, since as he had thrust his spear he had felt it.

A killing intent, oh so familiar.

The hatred lost its shape, its gaze lost that sentiency, and soon became but a stain before bursting apart, into nothingness, leaving but a spear in its place. Avaln knew that spear, he had died many times before its edge, his heart beating painfully at the very memory so ingrained in his mind.

And so, his gaze followed the angle it came from to its inevitable conclusion.

Sgithe.

She was there, the puppet… or was it a puppet? Seating on top of her rock in the same manner he found her at first, her gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

He shook his head. That was a puppet. A strange soul-puppet, but one nonetheless, as he himself had checked plenty of times, for it only knew how to attack him relentlessly, never uttering a word, never showing anything but the intent of bleeding his heart dry every time he stepped into the ring…

That last notion made him abandon her figure, to check something he just thought about.

The spear was outside the ring, and his enemy had been too.

But there was only one possibility, so his mind told him.

“Sgithe?” He called, confused. How many times had he said her name out loud only to receive silence as an answer? The same silence that was flooding his soul now, snuffing the flickering flame of hope in his chest as if there was no air.

A wave of dizziness assaulted him then, and he took a seat despite knowing it wouldn’t help him in any way, his legs crossed as he let out a sigh of relief. His condition may not be the best, but after a quick check he surmised it wasn’t something he couldn’t fix with some rest.

Whatever that hatred was, it was gone.

For now, the danger had passed.

Maybe because of it, he allowed his mind to wander as his purple gaze went back to the spear frozen in place, stuck in an imaginary ground. It was made of shadows, something Sgithe, or the soul puppet, or Sgithe’s puppet… seemed to be able to control at will. Many times during training, or what he ended up calling training, she had formed that very same spear, or a sword, or a bow, or a greatsword, depending on the circumstances and how much Avaln himself had improved at the time.

He had never thought about that before, but now, given what he was staring at, he couldn’t help but wonder if such actions were deliberate rather than instinctual, if the puppet was actually trying to teach him how to defend against any and all weapons rather than just using what was best to counter him. Avaln had yet to land a hit on her; So obvious was their difference in skill, she shouldn’t need to resort to such tactics. Then, wouldn’t that mean the puppet had a remnant of sentiency, after all?

His gaze returned to her figure, impassive, there, seated on top of that rock, one knee flexed with an arm over it. A part of his mind couldn’t help admiring her, recalling his impression when he saw her for the first time… or the second, if he were to count the time when she saved him as a child.

Her long, dark purple hair; her silhouette, easy to trace due to her tight clothes…

Avaln shook his head as the word beautiful warned him of his own puerile mind, taking the reigns of his consciousness. Yes, she was beautiful, and yes, given what he knew of her, she would have smacked him for being unable to focus on the matter at hand. Their time together was short, yet given how difficult it was to measure such a dimension inside this place, he felt he had spent years under her hurried tutelage…

But she wasn’t Sgithe, not really. The thought came, together with the memory of her confession. She was just a soul fragment, an after image of someone who had left years ago. Avaln was having a hard time wrapping his head around the notion, however. Up until now he had ignored it after all, as more pressing matters were at hand, closer objectives yet to be achieved occupying his conscious thought…

But, what was the difference, really?

“Sgithe.” He called, tasting the name as his nerves were eventually settling, feeling how his mind was finally clearing. Of course, the puppet said nothing; she didn’t move, she didn’t blink, and now that Avaln could gaze upon her with full control of himself, he realized not even her chest swayed from the natural breathing a soul avatar would exhibit.

They didn’t need to, not there, but one’s mind was unable to imagine oneself without the need for air.

So, she had taught him, as her eyes showed the barest hint of emotion.

The memory was there, dancing on top of his skin, ready to be drawn and shown.

He took a deep breath, fully knowing the irony in doing so before his previous thoughts. He didn’t need to, but it felt good. Then he stood up, his feet stepping on a transparent floor, crystal clear, allowing him to see the shelves full of black ink in the distance; as long as he consciously blurred his sight, he could take in the simplest shapes without arousing that splitting headache; the difference between looking and seeing, his mind entertained. Then, he wondered if he shouldn’t erect a white wall around the puppet’s ring in order not to get distracted by it in future training sessions, yet he soon discarded the idea. It was a good opportunity to sharpen both his mind and focus.

He had thought so before, in fact, but so enthralled was he with the idea of sparring with Sgithe, he hadn’t delved further into the matter.

“Sgithe, uh?” He muttered then, walking up to the shadow spear still plunged into the transparent floor. He was unable to fully define her existence, alternating between puppet and the name of the person it resembled when referring to her. Why? Wishful thinking? Hope? Yearning?

He shook his head, believing himself silly, then grabbed the spear… and performed unneeded heart, aiming at the rock she was seating on. The projectile flew, a blurry dark flash that pierced and stayed there, releasing no sound, no sway before the impact and the supposed residual force from the throw.

“Thank you!” He shouted, aware of the fact he didn’t need to, for inside his soul his voice wasn’t sound, but a thought. He didn’t need to… but it felt good.

I guess that's what matters. He thought.

Unexpectedly, the puppet did move this time. It reached for the spear without actually touching it, and soon the weapon dissolved into the shadows it was made of, flowing inside her hand, disappearing in but a breath.

Avaln shook his head in disbelief. What was that, but confirmation that the puppet had helped him? Confirmation that it could step outside the ring, perceive outside the ring… and so had chosen, during their time training, not to attack him if he stepped out.

Puppet, or Sgithe? The question without answer, tormenting him, showing him just how many things he didn’t know.

But he wanted to, and that was a start.

Atreus stared at the man in a mix of hostility and disbelief, a stare not so different from the one Darmia was brandishing behind him, and against the same target.

“So?” The man asked as his golden eyes gleamed with victory.

Those eyes were clear, so much that the woman by the name of Tarin could easily discern the forest around them in such a hue, including the many moving adventurers setting up camp. She wondered why the couple she formed a temporary party with, were so wary of the man; they seemed to know him from before, and from what she could guess from his demeanour, he was a veteran with plenty of experience and skill. Or at least, with a higher chance of survival than the freelance rabble they were surrounded by.

Pretty much what the couple was looking for.

“We’ve been here clearing goblins for a week, and only now you decide to show your mug?” Atreus called out, his fists clenched. “And all of a sudden we are supposed to accept you into our party, with someone we know nothing about?”

Tarin deviated her blue gaze towards the figure he mentioned. She was clearly a woman, so she discerned by the shape hidden beneath her cloak, as a long curl of pink hair peeked out of her magically enchanted hood; magically, because Tarin was unable to spy anything inside it, despite being able to see the shape of her face.

It was as if her mind was unable to register her features.

That was a strong spell, something only an incredibly achieved Disciple of Magic could weave into a piece of cloth. And something no ordinary freelance adventurer should be able to possess, nor cast. In fact, Tarin doubted they could at all. Upon such a thought, however, she glanced in Atreus’ direction, noting again his right shoulder pad, shaped like a lion’s head, and accepted that indeed such exceptions were possible.

And too common right there, in her vicinity. She couldn’t help feeling that it wasn't a coincidence.

“Don’t worry about my companion. You can act as if she isn’t here.” The man said, waving the matter, and her existence even, away. “And I can assure you that I shall pull my weight.”

“Hmm?” Atreus lifted an eyebrow, and as a wicked grin emerged on his features, one of his big hands reached for his greatsword, strapped on his back. “How about we put that to the test?”

He never grabbed the pommel, however, for another hand settled on his arm, gently. “Stop.” The word lacked any kind of command, yet it was enough to ease the tension in the warrior’s muscles. “Tell me, what should I call you?” Darmia asked, taking a step forward and between them.

The man smiled. “Pynam. Just Pynam.”

Darmia nodded towards the woman by his side. “And you?”

Pynam extended an arm to stop her from answering. “I insist; you can just act as if she isn’t here.”

The woman giggled, almost musically, and to Darmia’s surprise, something akin to annoyance loomed on the man’s features. It was brief, yet so marked by what she knew about him, she would be blind to miss it. She also noted how the woman seemed to hold back a comment, only to nod towards her in acknowledgment.

“Enea… Pynam.” She said, and Atreus shook his head in resignation and a hint of disbelief. He knew Darmia well enough to know she wouldn’t slip in such an obvious way unless it was on purpose, and he quickly guessed she was probing him. “Why should we accept?”

A brief grimace crossed Eneas’ features, then he narrowed his eyes. “Because I hired you.”

Darmia denied with a finger. “You recruited us to join the expedition, nothing more. And I’m guessing because you actually want it to succeed.” She swayed her hip to the side, pointing at the ground with a finger. “But this was not part of the deal. Entrusting you with our backs was not part of the deal.”

The man winced, and the woman behind him giggled again. Almost intentionally, Atreus noted.

Darmia crossed her arms, and the warrior didn’t need a view of her features to know the kind of stare she was daggering him with. “So?”

Eneas sighed, and after a quick glance to their surroundings, whispered, “It is time. I can’t go into details right now, but we are about to find the entrance to the goblin colony.”

Darmia waved a hand to the side. “Nothing new there. The tracks don’t lie.”

Eneas narrowed his eyes, and after another sigh, replied, “What do you want?”

Atreus didn’t need to take a look at his partner to know she was smiling. “I want a cut.”

“A cut?”

She nodded. “A cut of what you are looking for in there.” She pointed with a thumb to where the tracks were leading them. “And don’t waste your breath saying it has anything to do with the colony.”

“She got you there 〜” The voice of the woman behind him seemed to dance in everyone’s ears.

Another sigh. It seemed Eneas wasn’t used to being on the losing side of a negotiation, Darmia noted. “Very well.” He lifted a finger. “But I shall disclose what it is only when I think it’s time.”

Darmia took a breath, as if pondering her options, albeit Atreus was quite sure of her real thoughts, and so it didn’t surprise him when she nodded. “Deal.” They shook hands, and while doing so, Darmia added, “Since we are now a party, you’ll have to do your part as well. Also, no hierarchy.”

Eneas winced once again.