“At least tell me beforehand the next time you want to skip.” Euthymius scraped his temple with an awkward half-smile as he listened without injection to Calaviril’s chastising. “I was a bit worried that something may have happened.” She added in a low murmur. It warmed his chest, but pretended it passed his ears.

  “Sorry, I just reached my limits sooner.” Euthymius made his excuse, for the moment he wished not to indulge his paranoia to the princess. Not until he had something palpable to give which he believed awaited him where Volaginius teleported away.

  Believed, but wished against since the week passed, to the point that he given up on following any more of his comrades, and decided that wherever that leads, if nothing sinister presents itself, nothing that would link the New Dawn to the past years’ ailments of the capital, he would give up, place his full trust as his brother did. A bit na?ve he thought, but the constant fear and uncertainty slowly consumed him and he slept little, which Calaviril pointed out seeing the dark circles resting beneath his sleep craving eyes focusing on her.

  On her slender form which appeared with a fairer amber shade, she wore a thick leather and linen blend coat. Most of its smooth, enameled surface were made from a rough, coarse leather dyed a deep shade of black matching with her shortened hair, whilst on its sides and shoulders bold cinnabar red linen stretched, its smoothness broken by runes of power that simply extended her arkhaine limits as she explained earlier. From its diagonal pocket, she lifted out a small vial filled with a brimming golden liquid with a slight tint of azure.

  “Drink it. It shall waken you sufficient enough for today’s task.” She said with a strict countenance he found a little lovely as her visage appeared devoid of her gleaming scales.

  “Thanks.” He said taking the brew, knowing already it would be futile to make excuses or false assurances in regards of his state not really hindering the task ahead.

  Still, he hesitated a little as his fingers touched the small cork, and almost uttered out the excuse he recounted half a dozen times ambling down the path and in the safe confines of his room. But looking into her eyes, he refrained from trying to preserve and chucked it down. Within seconds Euthymius felt a warm rush coarse through his whole body, washing away the aching of his muscles, a relic of the previous day. And at once, felt as if he dreamt peacefully through a whole week. He felt his power, his endurance surging again.

  “Short hair fits you.” Swerving away from the previous topic, his comment seemingly went by her ears as she headed straight out the door. Though he wasn’t sure of it, he glimpsed her cheeks gain a pretty shade reminiscent of cherries Luelia brought to them once, years before.

  He nearly apologized, but remained silent recalling the erudite words of his mother. After which he recalled the awkward expression, his father wore standing by the door.

  “So, what task you took from the board? Aiding the hungry or catching an escaped pet?” He asked, matching her hasty pace.

  “Hunting rodents.” Calaviril replied, looking at him straight as they stopped right at the center of the nearest square to the chapter of the adventurer’s guild. Looking down, he noticed the lid and without a word, lifted it up.

  Clean water streamed silently through lane beyond the precipice stained by the blood of small vermin and their masters. For two hours the two walked the twisting maze of the sewers below the commoners’ district at the abdomen of the western mountains. Near one of the turns, not far below the Drunken Sphinx, they ran into a pack of oversized rats Calaviril’s long, wildly curving sword easily cut through, whilst Euthymius regretted his choice of a long hammer.

  Its lengthy shaft promised distance from all the visceral parts of smashing, in truth once he swung and flattened the head of a rodent, the contents of its body sprayed afar. Even Calaviril’s outfit received a little blood and chunks of its skull.

  “Never thought such beasts would have the bravery to slip beneath the shadow of dragons.” Calaviril said as she sliced across the primitive armor of a bipedal rodent covered in rough fur the color of unpainted, dull steel. Like their unsightly hounds, they emanated high-pitched screeches upon death, and their height was just a head below the two youths’, and just an inch above crude goblins.

  “It happens seldom, but the custodians do warn against staying out late near the junction points of the sewers.” Many times, Myrtilos and Hedea warned the two brothers for making sure the door to their home remains closed at all hours of the night. Once Isocrates beckoned him to come with him, listen on a silent, dark night. He remembered how he recoiled, hearing shuffling steps beyond the feeble door of their home.

  “Then with this, the city got a bit safer.” Calaviril said with pride as she pulled her palm across the uneven blade, a layer of gelatinous water voraciously licking off the blood. “Though I must say, you are quite the natural with the hammer.”

  “Thanks.” Euthymius said as he cleaned off sweat and blood from his face. His mind lingered on the curiosity of not being so horrified at extinguishing the lives of beasts, not even the bipedal vermin.

  He pondered if their lack of intelligence, their bestial communication made it easier for him to strike without hesitation. Or because they were ugly things to stare at. Whilst cleaning his hammer’s head in the flowing sewage water, watching as the cleansing motes ravenously devoured the grime and gore, the notion of he himself testing his own limits entered as a possibility. When he closed his eyes, he still saw Khaetomhian getting pressured by an invisible force until he popped along with his lofty armor. And each time, he remembered the Luelia standing over, sneering like some wicked dragon of Dusk from heroic tales, standing triumphant over the hero’s father. The thought slipped in sudden, and he shook his head at the outlandish thought.

  “Can I ask, why the hammer and not the spear?” Calaviril asked as she unsheathed a silver dagger which easily cut flesh. Her soft, warm toned hands wrapped about the tails of the little rats, and she severed their tails with one clean cut, without the need of sawing. It was a small thing which picked her interest, and wished not to listen to the sound of flesh parting.

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  “Just felt right at the moment. I am already used to pickaxes, and this felt the closest.” Euthymius answered, leaving the grimmer reason to himself. “Though truth be told, I should have chosen the spear.” He added scraping his chin, whilst watching her cut off the tails of their prey.

  Calaviril chuckled. “Certainly, the chances of clean kills would be higher. But come here, dip your hand into the water.” Euthymius followed her advice without hesitation, and felt the supple water tickle the tip of his fingers at first, it felt pleasantly smooth and weightless. “Now, look at yourself and imagine the blood not on your skin and clothes.” It took him a few minutes, but done so and suspecting what the next piece be, he felt as if another current came to be. The unseen, effervescent water crawled along his arm, and felt his sweat and the grime disappear at once, even saw it in his reflection.

  “Not bad, is it?” Calaviril asked whilst tucking the last of the severed tails into a pouch. She fastened the thin rope quick.

  “It is. Though I wonder, why not share it with the little folk?” Euthymius said, caressing his own hands, his own fingers.

  “Well, it is dangerous down here as we can see it.” Euthymius felt a little embarrassed but showed it not upon his countenance. “Partly because of these and many other creatures that creep the sewers, and to most common folk, it could be deadly, as it is in the medium grade of spells. Even you have a bit of longing in your eyes.” He saw it, though the feeling was nothing more than a distant echo in his mind. “Which could be hammered out, pardon the pun.”

  He sighed, knowing what thread she wished to tread onto. Ever since the small clash in the square, she tried beckoning him with offers to join the First Legion. Like Isocrates did. Calaviril even vouched for him at Drussaev, but Euthymius stood his ground, refused each time as politely as he could. And seeing his gaze, Calaviril sighed, looked at her own reflection. “I know your answer, but could you tell me the reason. At least.” She asked, looking at him before they both stood up at the promontory, continued onwards along the left.

  For a while Euthymius held his tongue, ruminated long whether to be truthful or just make up a reason. “Is it because of your brother?” As the question came, she averted her remorseful gaze.

  “No, not really.” He relapsed into silence, feeling daggers thrust his chest. “Or maybe just a small part of my decision. He never really wanted me to follow in suite, neither did our father unless we wanted to. They both wanted me to have a normal, peaceful life here in the capital.” He himself felt a bit awkward, them miner folks even in the city were not prone to dig out the contents, the secrets of their own hearts and minds, they were content enough tearing into the mountain.

  “I think neither of us were meant for that business by the One and the Eight’s designs. No, they both chose to better the lives of their loved ones as even I can’t lie, the money it provides has its pull, hence why I lessen the calling with a bit of adventurer’s work.” Though as he began, the words just poured whilst Calaviril listened in earnest, her eyes gleamed warm as the Illius. “And I am unsure if I could take the life of another kindred, even if they fight for the Night.”

  “I see.” Calaviril spoke once he went silent. “Your heart is in the right place, Euthy.”

  “I wish so.” He said, looking down at the folds forming beneath the hard leather plate hanging over his chest. Her soft titter made him feel embarrassed as he remembered what the phrase meant. He vowed as they continued onwards, into the darkness where the lights embedded into the softly arching ceiling ceased, letting the shadows reign unabated.

  Just before they entered whilst walking abreast, Euthymius noticed her steps coming to a halt. “I shan’t push the matter more. But I wish our adventuring days continue as long as we breathe and are friends. Can they?” She asked with vaguely pleading eyes, almost too feline Euthymius pondered if he could say no to if that was what he would have desired. He lifted his hand and she took it, thrice their shook it in agreement, promise and friendship.

  “Wha…” Calaviril shushed him once her silky soft palm clamped over his eyes. Once they departed, the shadows softened, nearly ceased where the light shone through the grates. A smaller promise followed, when Euthymius asked about the cantrip.

  After that, both held their tongues continuing into the section where deeper shadows reigned. Not far along, a vile stench both grew familiar too in the few hours since their descent alerted them of the presence of another pack, at the next cistern. In the mellowed darkness, both made out about seven or more of the rat-kin, forming a circle on the central platform, surrounding another form towering over them.

  “And as promised, the Great Old One delivered a fine grub upon our table. Go, kill them and let us feast on the flesh of apes and dragons my dear children!” Shrieked a high, raspy voice.

  Euthymius swung from under, smashed the lower jaw of another rat-kin. With a metallic soft shriek, Calaviril’s blade slid out from its sheath in the same breath, cut through the bony plates of two, spilling their guts on the alabaster marble. Euthymius shifted behind her, hearing footsteps, sensing tremors created by furtive steps. Two attacked from behind. One, his hammer caved in its abdomen, the other’s head twisted behind, its neck creaked loudly as the bones snapped like twigs. Feeble creatures they proved to be, Euthymius thought, pressing his back hard against Calaviril’s. Her sweet, exotic fragrance triumphed over the malodorous stench of the dead rat-kin.

  Calaviril’s long blade stuck in the chest of another’s cadaver, gently swayed it rightwards, whilst pulling the sword out. It fell onto the promontory, becoming a hurdle in the dark for another rat-kin, whom she beheaded whilst it scrambled for its primitive club. Euthymius shuffled beside her, heaved sideways into the rat-kin’s head, gently guiding it into the spike grown forth the wall. It emanated one last high-pitched shriek, before the sharp end drove through its skull, ending its last shriek echoing through the canal.

  “No, my children!” Screamed the man in the dark, dribbling blood from his eyes.

  A gangly men of the Yhanubj kin, starved and withered, horrid to look at. His arms long and crooked, skin stretched over bone and lithe muscle, talon long and sharp nails, dirty and bloody. His head held remnants of his once lush dark hair, whilst his beard grow long, but did little to hide the vermin-like features including the silvery eyes glinting in the dark, the long ears, and the teeth gnawing at the lower lip.

  A howling emanated from his stretching mouth, at once they both felt warmth and cold slipping from the dim world of the sewers. Dread accompanied the drainage of temperature in both, and Euthymius acted first, charging at the madmen, his fingers tautened their hold around the shaft of the hammer, his muscles tensed, but at the last step, he slammed his shoulders into the ribs, hurling the madmen across the cistern’s central platform. Nearly, he tumbled into the flowing sewage water, blackened by the cadavers of various other beasts.

  The mad silvery eyes closed, then shot wide open, stared long and hard, pierced deep within Euthymius. He froze with fear, holding his hammer, but his fingers loosened slow. “I see. I see. I see.” He howled each word. “Blessed blindness, how I miss you.” Spit hurled with each word. “To not see the doom that comes for Luth-Astaril.” He chuckled as the last strength parted from his throat, then he snapped his own neck, yet his laughter echoed deeper, seemed it would never cease as the two looked at his corpse, confusion in their gazes.

  Once Calaviril lifted off a medallion bearing a strange star of ten spokes from his sole cloth wrapped around his loins, revelation dawned on her face. “A disciple of the Mad Deos.” All she said, before ambling off the sever the rat-kin tails. Euthymius though remained unsure, if that was the case. He felt something watch through the glassy eyes, frozen in madness.