Eldritch Guidance

Alan strolled along a wooded area of Graheel with his friend Sere by his side. The warm sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns on the cobblestone path they followed. It had been several days since his injury, and most of the bandages on his arm had already been removed, revealing skin that was well on its way to healing. Thanks to Sere's exceptional healing abilities, his recovery had been remarkably swift, far exceeding what he had expected.

Although a few tender spots remained on his hands, still wrapped in protective bandages, they were also showing steady improvement. The soreness was manageable. Alan felt confident, especially with Sere’s magic working its wonders, that he would be fully healed within a day or two. The thought of finally being free of all the bandages filled him with relief and gratitude as they continued their walk.

As Alan wandered through a serene park-like area, his steps brought him to a solemn memorial tucked away among the trees. At the heart of the space stood a gazebo, its elegant design encircling a striking statue of an angelic figure. The statue’s delicate features conveyed both sorrow and hope, its arms outstretched as though offering solace to all who approached. Surrounding the gazebo were countless stone pillars arranged in quiet symmetry. Each pillar bore plates engraved with the names of those who had died or gone missing during the civil war in Gix.

This memorial, born from the grief and resilience of immigrants, refugees, and families displaced by the conflict, was a tribute to their lost loved ones. The names etched into the metal plates seemed endless, a testament to the scale of the tragedy. As Alan stepped closer, there was quite a somberness in the air—a silent but powerful reminder of the human cost of war.

In Alan’s uninjured hand, he carried a carefully wrapped bundle of white flowers, their delicate petals soft against his fingers.

He glanced around and noticed that he and Sere were alone; no one else seemed to be nearby. Yet, signs of others who had visited lingered in the form of small, heartfelt offerings. Bouquets of flowers—some fresh, others beginning to wilt—rested at the base of the angelic statue. A few candles, long since burned out, stood as silent witnesses to past moments of mourning. Alan tightened his grip on the flowers, a sense of purpose settling over him as he prepared to add his own gesture to the collective memory of those who had been lost.

Alan turned to Sere, who was following him.

Alan: “You know you didn’t have to come with me.”

Sere: “I’m just here to make sure you don’t make your injury worse.”

Alan: “It is not that kind of injury. Besides, I’m almost fully healed thanks to you already,” he said while raising his hand which was now the only thing wrapped in bandages instead of his arm.

Sere: “Yeah, and still manage to get yourself badly hurt when I’m not around.”

Alan: “I still get hurt even when you're around,” he said playfully.

Sere: “Yeah, but at least I’m here to patch you up when it happens,” she also responded jokingly.

Alan couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in his chest undeniable. Sere’s constant worry and concern for him made him feel deeply loved and cared for, a feeling he didn’t take for granted. A part of him appreciated her decision to join him today, knowing it was a gesture of her unwavering support. Yet, another part of him wrestled with the notion that he might be wasting her time. Still, Sere had made her choice without hesitation, agreeing to accompany him to this solemn place after she had come by his home earlier to tend to his arm with her healing magic.

As Alan stood there, the thought of having friends like Sere and Jafar in his life filled him with gratitude. They were his anchors in a world that often felt uncertain. Their presence reminded him of the strength found in shared bonds, and for that, he would forever be profoundly thankful.

Alan: “Thank you, Sere. Um, could you um—”

Sere: “I’ll be just over there by the benches. Take your time.” answering before Alan could finish his request.

Alan nodded silently before making his way toward the memorial. Sere, sensing his need for privacy, drifted toward a set of park benches at a respectful distance. She settled there, far enough away that she couldn’t hear him, but close enough to be present if he needed her.

Reaching the base of the statue, Alan paused, the weight of the moment pressing on him. With deliberate care, he knelt on the polished stone flooring and laid the bundle of white flowers at the foot of the angelic figure. For a moment, he simply gazed up at the statue, its serene and sorrowful expression seeming to meet his own.

A deep sense of melancholy swelled within him, an aching sadness that resonated with the quiet sanctity of the memorial.

Alan: “Hey, sis. Sorry, I haven’t visited in a while. Been busy. Got a lot going on since I got into the university. Oh, um, I got into the Arcane Eye. Yeah, I know, it's crazy. Didn’t think I would ever get into something like that. Who would have thought your little crybaby brother would ever get into the most prestigious college in the world, right? Honestly, I thought it would have been Cris to get into something like that before someone like me, but he… I guess you already know. He’s probably up there with you, right? So, if you could tell him that I’m still working on that promise, I’d appreciate it.” he said while looking up at the memorial.

The words came easily yet carried a weight that seemed to hang in the air, unbroken by any human reply. Only the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze responded, their whisper-like sound mingling with his voice. It was a reminder of the stillness and solitude of loss, yet also of the subtle presence of life continuing around him. This place had become a sanctuary for him, a space where he could pour out his thoughts and feelings, as he had done so many times before.

Alan: “Big sis… Mom, Dad, and me, we all miss you so much,” his voice slightly trembling as he spoke.

While kneeling at the base of the statue, Alan clasped his hands together and bowed his head in quiet prayer. He wasn’t a particularly religious person, not in the same devout way his friend Sere was, but at this moment, he held onto the hope that the Light might hear him. If such a divine being existed, Alan prayed they would listen to the words he couldn’t speak aloud to his loved ones.

He prayed intensely, asking the Light to carry his feelings to his dear friend Cris and his beloved sister, both of whom he imagined resting peacefully somewhere in Paradise. For Alan, it wasn’t about doctrine or ritual; it was about the deep yearning in his heart to connect with those he had lost, to let them know they were never forgotten. The act of prayer, however uncertain, gave him solace.

Alan remained kneeling at the Gix war memorial, his hands still clasped in silent prayer. The world around him seemed to fade away, leaving only the stillness of the moment and the rustle of leaves in the background.

But then, cutting through the quiet, a sound reached his ears. One that sent a cold, sharp shiver racing down his spine. His heart skipped a beat as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and a chill crept over him, seeping into his very core.

Tap, tap, tap.

Slowly, Alan lifted his head, his body tense, as he turned to look behind himself at the source of that sound.

As Alan turned around, his eyes fell on a figure steadily approaching him. The man wore a weathered, ragged brown leather jacket that looked as though it had seen better days. His gray hair was unkempt, and a thick, bushy mustache obscured his upper lip, giving him a rugged, almost stern appearance. Standing at around six feet tall (183 cm), the man carried himself with a presence that seemed heavier than the sum of his steps.

The sound that had sent a chill down Alan’s spine revealed itself to be the rhythmic tapping of the man’s sturdy leather boots against the stone path. As the figure drew closer, recognition dawned, and Alan’s stomach sank. He knew this man all too well. It was Howard—his uncle.

Of all the people to encounter here, at this important place, Howard was the last person Alan wanted to see. Apprehension surged through him, his moment of reflection shattered by the unwelcome arrival. Alan rose slowly to his feet, his jaw tightening as the older man came to a stop a few paces away, his sharp eyes scrutinizing him.

Howard: “What are you doing here, boy?”

Alan: “Just paying my respect.”

Howard: “Hmm. Well, move to the side, so I can pay respect in the proper Gixian way.”

Alan: “That’s fine. I’m just leaving.”

Howard: “Humph, good,” he mumbled as he stepped forward to face the memorial.

Alan quickly rose to his feet, his heart pounding, and turned to leave the memorial without a word. He moved with quiet urgency, his focus fixed on getting away before his uncle could say or do anything to escalate things. As he hurried down the path, he nearly stumbled to a stop when he saw Sere standing ahead of him. Her arms were crossed, her posture tense, and her glare was fixed like a dagger on Howard.

Concerned, Alan glanced back over his shoulder to see what had drawn her ire. His chest tightened at the sight. Howard had retrieved a battered metal flask from his jacket, its scratched surface glinting faintly in the light. With a deliberate motion, he unscrewed the cap and poured some of its contents directly onto the ground in front of the memorial.

Alan’s breath caught when he realized where the liquid had fallen—right on top of the white flowers he had carefully laid just minutes ago.

Sere: “Hey—” she briefly called out before Alan stopped her.

Alan had placed his hand on Sere’s shoulders and gave a pleading look that practically said: “Please don’t”. Sere let out a quiet breath, her resolve softening. With a reluctant nod, she turned to follow him along the path, but not before casting one final, sharp glare in Howard’s direction.

Howard, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the silent exchange behind him. He remained fixed in his actions, his broad back turned toward them. His focus stayed on the memorial as he continued to pour the contents of his flask, the liquid splashing directly onto the white flowers Alan had so carefully placed. The sight made Sere’s jaw tighten, but she kept moving, matching Alan’s pace.

Once they got far enough away from Alan’s uncle that he wouldn’t hear them, Sere began to rant.

Sere: “Your uncle is such an asshole!”

Alan: “I know.”

Sere: “Like, why did he have to pour alcohol over the memorial!”

Alan: “In Gix, some people pour alcohol in front of graves or memorials to pay respect to the dead.”

Sere: “Yeah, but he didn’t have to pour it on top of your flowers. And, before you say anything about that, you and I know he purposely did that.”

Alan: “Maybe…

Sere: “There is no maybe about it. As long as I've known you, your uncle has been such a dick to you and your family. I don’t know why you put up with it.”

Alan: “My uncle is mad at my dad for not staying in Gix and fighting when the war broke out. That’s why he’s like that. But, he’s also the reason why I’m even here. He lives here in Graheel and is a full citizen of the Union. He vouched for us when we were trying to get refugee status. If it wasn't for him, I probably would still be in a refugee camp. So, my dad made me promise not to fight or argue with my uncle, that he earned the right to say whatever he wanted about us. So, can we please not talk about this anymore?”

Sere: “Fine,” she reluctantly relented. “So, what is the plan for the rest of the day since your visit to Gix memorial got cut short?”

Alan: “I think I might go to the archive to help Jafar and the others in the Sleuth-Hawks. Joe wouldn’t let me help and told me to focus on getting better, but I think I could convince him to let me now with my arm almost completely healed. And, if he still won’t let me help, I can always just go study at the Archive.”

Sere: “You're really into this now, huh. The whole Sleuth-Hawks and Archmage thing. Never thought I’d see the day you would be eager to stick your head into a book.”

Alan: “Yeah, but I gotta make what contribution I can or improve my knowledge if I ever want to become an Archmage. I also heard from Jafar, they found some really promising information on Jixi and have been working through it the last few days. I really want to help them with that if I can.”

Sere: “What did they find?”

Alan: “They found out that Jixi had access to the Consuming Ooze cults—” he stopped mid-sentence.

Alan came to an abrupt stop, his footsteps halting mid-stride. Sere, caught off guard, quickly stopped as well. Following his gaze, she turned to see what had captured his attention.

It was a person—kneeling a short distance away in front of a statue of a knight, almost blending into the background if not for the striking attire they wore. But this wasn’t just any passerby. The figure was clad in the unmistakable purple uniform of the Arcane Eye, a mark of an elite college.

Sere’s eyes widened slightly. A student of the Arcane Eye was a rarity, a near-mythical sight inside the academy's hallowed halls. Seeing one here, in the middle of this quiet park, was like spotting a unicorn in the wild—unexpected and extraordinary.

The figure kneeled solemnly, both hands gripping the hilt of a blade whose point rested steadily on the stone ground. The pose was deliberate, almost reverent, as though the blade itself were an extension of his thoughts. From their vantage point, Alan and Sere could only see the student in profile, but the scene before them spoke volumes.

His forehead pressed firmly against the flat of the sword, the gesture resembling a prayer or a moment of deep contemplation. The faint rigidity in his posture hinted at the weight of whatever thoughts occupied his mind.

As they studied him, a few details stood out. His dark complexion was accentuated by the soft glow of light filtering through the trees, and his short, curly brown hair framed a face partially obscured by his solemn stance. Though they couldn’t see his expression, the stillness of his form spoke of focus, intensity, and perhaps even a touch of sorrow.

Sere: “Who is that? I’ve never seen another Arcane Eye student in the university, let alone outside it.”

Alan: “Johannes, Edward's older brother.” he said, recognizing immediately who this was.

Sere: “That’s Johannes Scefer? He looks nothing like his little brother.”

Alan: “Edward was apparently adopted.”

Sere: “Oh, huh? How do you know that?”

Alan: “Cause I talked to him when I officially became an enforcer.”

Sere: “What is he even doing?”

Alan: “That form… it's a knight’s vow. I’ve seen it before in the warrior's etiquette class when I was in the Lionheart's. He’s making some sort of vow to himself or something with his knightly honor.”

Sere: “Should we go say hi, or is that rude while he’s doing that vow thingy?”

Alan: “Let’s not. I don’t have anything to talk to him about. I’m not even that close to him. We just talked that one time.”

Alan and Sere continued along the path in silence, their footsteps light as they passed by the figure now recognizable as Johannes. He remained kneeling before the statue of a knightly figure, seemingly lost in his private moment of reflection. They had no intention of disturbing him and were content to move quietly past, letting him be.

But just as they were about to leave him behind, Johannes rose from his kneeling position with a deliberate motion. The sudden movement drew their attention, and they realized they now stood directly behind him. Alan stopped instinctively, his gaze fixed on Johannes.

From this vantage point, Alan noticed Johannes raise the sleeve of his uniform to his face, rubbing it briskly. When he lowered his arm, Alan’s sharp eyes caught the faint shimmer of dampness on the fabric. The sleeve of Johannes’s otherwise pristine uniform was now slightly wet, a telltale sign of tears hastily wiped away. Alan said nothing, but the sight struck a chord in him, a subtle reminder that even nobles could shed tears.

Johannes began to turn away from the statue, preparing to walk along the same path Alan and Sere were following. As he moved, his gaze swept over them, and his expression shifted the moment he recognized Alan. A spark of familiarity lit his face, and he broke into a warm, friendly smile.

Without hesitation, Johannes approached, his demeanor shifting from somber introspection to easy camaraderie.

Johannes: “Ah, my friend. It’s good to see thou,” he said in a strange manner, his voice carrying a genuine warmth that matched his smile.

Alan, caught off guard by the sudden shift, hesitated for a moment before returning the smile, feeling the genuine energy of the greeting pull him from his own lingering tension. Sere remained quiet but observant, her eyes flicking between Alan and Johannes with quiet curiosity.

Alan: “Good to see you too,” he said half-heartedly.

Johannes: “I heard thou got into a little trouble. Stuck thou whole arm into a monster to save someone, I hear. I must say, thou heroism is truly inspiring. A real modern-day Markus the Brave,” he said, invoking the name of the Lionheart College founder.

Alan: “I wouldn’t go that far. The man I tried to save still died.”

Johannes: “Thou are being too hard on yourself, my heroic friend,” he said while patting Alan's shoulder. “Thou still put life and limb on the line for a stranger. I can only hope to demonstrate similar bravery on my path to Knighthood.”

Alan: “So, you're training to become a Knight. Then that was a Knight vow you were just doing.”

Johannes’s expression flickered for a brief moment, betraying his surprise.

Johannes: “I was… making a promise to my brother… But, let’s not talk about that. Tis a private matter. I heard thou got hurt badly, but you're looking better than what I heard from others,” he said, while briefly looking at Alan’s hand, which was still partly covered in bandages.

Alan: “It was pretty bad, but I got a friend who is good at healing magic, helping me recover quickly.”

Johannes: “This friend you must be talking about must be thy fair lady of Silverwing," he said while looking at Sere. “Ah, I have yet to introduce myself. Please forgive me, beautiful fair lady. I am Johannes Scefer, first in line of the Scefer family, the strongest knight of my family, and expert arcane swordsman.”

Sere

Alan rolled his eyes at his friend.

Sere: “I’m Sere Lockheart, one of Alan’s best friends.”

Johannes: “The honor tis mine,” he said as he bowed gracefully towards Sere.

Alan: “Um, why are you talking like you're from the medieval era? You didn’t act like this when we first met.”

Alan rarely trusted nobles, even in the best of circumstances. He still held disdain for the noble class that led to the destruction of his home in Gix, and there was something about their polished manners and carefully constructed facades that always put him on edge. Johannes’ odd behavior and mannerisms only deepened his suspicions.

His mind began to race with possibilities. Was Johannes secretly following him? The thought gnawed at the edges of his reason. Spying, perhaps? The idea wasn’t far-fetched; nobles often had hidden agendas, and someone like Johannes might have reasons to keep tabs on him. Perhaps Johannes didn’t trust Alan, viewing him as a potential threat or liability.

Alan’s jaw tightened slightly as he studied the young noble. Preparing for Johannes to respond in some sort of disingenuous manner, like: “I’ve talked this way. What are you talking about?” kind of response, gaslighting him.

But, his response wasn't what Alan initially expected.

Johannes: “Oh, sorry. I went kinda Knight mode there. I’ve had Knight etiquette drilled into my head since I was a child. So, I switch my speech and mannerisms when I’m acting as a Knight or in a function surrounded by other nobles,” he said as the cadence of speech completely changed. “I’m normally not like that with close friends and family. So, please forgive me. I’m not mocking you or anything. It’s just an automatic thing I slip into.”

Alan: “Oh, um. That’s fine,” he said, surprised by Johannes' sudden change in mannerisms.

Sere: “I didn’t know the Scefer’s were a family of knights.”

Johannes: “We’re not. But, our family founder was a swordsman. So, someone in every generation of the Scefer family is expected to train in swordsmanship, and part of that involves becoming a Knight for the family.”

Alan: “I’ve always been told Knights are just soldiers with a fancy title.”

Johannes: “Ha! True! But, nobles love their fancy titles. Honestly, I could do without the whole Knight thing and just focus on swordsmanship. I’ve taken to swordsmanship easily and have been good at it since I was little. Speaking of which, would you like to train with me sometime? I can tell you know your way with a blade,” he said while he gripped the handle of his blade while it was in the scabbard.

Alan: “How did you know?”

Sere: “Alan, you were part of the Lionheart College a little while ago. They train everyone at that college how to use a sword. Anyone that knows that would know you trained in swordsmanship.”

Johannes: “It’s more than that. The way you walk and stand tells me that you’ve trained with the blade for a long time, probably for longer than you’ve been attending the university.”

Alan: “You sound like a master swordsman.”

Johannes: “I’m trying to be one! So, what do you say? After this investigation, how about giving you a few pointers?”

Alan: “Um, sure.”

Johannes: “Good. And Alan, If you ever run into any trouble like with that slime monster, do not hesitate to ask for my help. If you're ever in need, I will do everything in my power to assist you. After all, as my junior, it’s expected that I help. Anyway, I have somewhere I need to be, and I’m sure it’s the same for you. So, farewell, my friend,” he said before he walked away.

Alan and Sere stood silently, their eyes following Johannes as he walked away, his figure retreating along the path that led out of the park. Once he was some distance away and Sere was confident he couldn’t hear them, she started talking to Alan again.

Sere: “I’m surprised. He seems like a nice guy. He is nothing like the rumor says, although he says he switched his manner of speaking. So, maybe that was where those rumors came from.”

Alan: “What are the rumors about him?”

Sere: “That he is the epitome of noble behavior and a genius swordsman. Stoic, reserved, elegant with his words and actions, tough but fair, but quite distant and hard to approach. That he only respects others of noble heritage. All that kind of stuff.”

Alan: “That sounds like a roundabout way to say he’s pompous.”

Sere: “I know. That’s what I thought. But, he didn’t seem like that at all. It seemed like he wanted to be your friend, Alan.”

Alan: “Yeah…”

The idea of being friends with Johannes unsettled Alan. The very notion of forging a connection with a noble grated against his principles. It wasn’t personal, not exactly; it was more about what Johannes represented. Alan harbored a deep-seated disdain for nobles, a conscious and persistent bitterness born from experience. While he had no intention of being outright rude to Johannes, he was equally determined not to cultivate any kind of friendship. Civility was one thing, but companionship was something else entirely.

Shaking off the lingering unease from their encounter, Alan turned his attention back to the present. He and Sere exited the park, their steps quiet as they left the statues, memorials, and unwelcome memories behind. Alan would then make his way to the Arcanium Archive.

(Author's Note: just putting this here for when a bot scrapes and repost without my permission. So, putting this in the main body of the story. Hey there! You're reading a story be me, Saberfang. This was likely taken from royal road or scribble hub. If you like my work please read it on those websites or on patreon at /user?u=83747391)