The Arts: the paths to power. There are many, their shades and methods esoteric. It is said they come from the Titans themselves, the secret language of the corpse-gods.
At the root of all Art are the Twin Souls of Men.
The Blue Soul rests in the brow, the Crown of Kings. It is said that the root of the Blue Soul sits an inch behind the eyes. The Cerulean Arts and its branches are iron law, cold and set, a frozen river.
The Red Soul rests in the spine and chest, a web of heat that fills the torso with energy, the Heart of Beasts. The Red Art is the art of those who do not think, but act, a raging inferno that pushes the body to fight, the blood within screaming to taste the death of your foes.
If you seek to strike the horizon, you must master both.
The Sovereign Beast. You will bow before the emperor crowned.
-Teachings of Azet, Voice of the Titan Thur, the Tyrant.
As morning crept along the ground, the sun peaking up over the distant northern hills, the city of Stinjul was already waking up. The canals were teeming with morning traffic, dock workers sitting in wide barges heading towards the various islands were different companies had set up shop.
As the light hit the trees of Emancipation Park, gold reflecting off the statue of the Great Emancipator that stood proudly in the center. Red wings rose up, gulls nesting on them beginning to wake, their calls echoing through the entry gates.
Rising between the east districts and the slowly rebuilding slums to the west was a large hill, the Temple Quarter, the rising cathedrals and shrines built carefully atop the prone, headless corpse of Mindol, the Titan of Mind. The flesh was mummified, as with many of the Titans, and the construction of the temples was carefully laid out to protect the divine flesh from access from the outside. From her hollowed torso, a jagged blade the size of a clocktower pierced the Titan’s heart, inscribed with a single word in the language of the Gods:
Rahgol. Rage.
Conall sat in his quarters at the Temple of the Four Paths, gazing out to the southern horizon, past the Sevenfold Blade, to the island of Lahrii. The towers of the school of the arcane were built like a crown atop the skull of Mindol rising from the surf, and even from here the blue glow of the magelights could be seen.
He and Zelith had sat here many nights, looking out towards the towers of Lahrii, dreaming of a future where the secrets of the Arts would be theirs. A path forward.
He glanced down at the damaged shirt he’d found the night before, running a hand through his curled red hair before sighing. Placing a jacket on, he began to walk towards the docks, and the Sunvaar ship he’d been told Zelith would be at come the morning.
Grey grumbled, stirred from sleep by the sound of somebody slamming a fist into her door, her eyes refusing to open with any amount of speed as she cracked her neck before turning to look to her left.
Zelith was laying down on the edge of the fur-covered mattress, her eyes quickly shooting closed as she saw Grey was looking over, making a very unconvincing impression of somebody waking up.
“…How long have you been awake?” the Sunvaar asked, tilting her head.
“Two hours,” Zelith said after a moment, her eyes opening. “Didn’t want to disturb you and I…don’t know where anything on the ship is.”
Grey blinked, shrugging and rolling up and off the mattress.
“Too early. Way too early,” she grunted, heading to the door as another knock echoed through the room. Grey growled, slamming her own fist into the door.
“AWAKE. THREE MINUTES.”
There was a grunt from outside, Grey frowning as she stalked over and starting picking her armor up from its scattered locations around the room.
“Best to get dressed, he’ll come back and keep knocking if we don’t go to breakfast,” Grey grumbled, looking at Zelith. The witchblood nodded, already pulling on her own clothing but frowning, glancing around.
“…Shirt, right. Outside,” the mage sighed, walking over to the door and glancing out, only frowning upon seeing the hallway. “Or not.”
Before saying a word, Grey had reached in her clothing chest and thrown a dark blue tunic at Zelith’s head, snorting a bit as the witchblood turned and tried to catch it in time and failed.
“Take it. Certainly earned it,” the wolf-woman said, winking as Zelith immediately seemed stunned, starting to pull on the shirt in an obvious attempt to hide her face.
Should I be saying something?
The breakfast table on the ship was a simple thing, covered in a mix of dried and more fresh meat, spread out and cooked, although Zelith caught herself glancing at the old man’s pile of seemingly raw steaks and winced a bit. Beyond the meat, there was some bread and pickled vegetables, but they seemed to be mostly for Kevyn, the mountain of a man sitting across from Zelith next to Grey.
Zelith herself had taken some of the bread, worried Kevyn would get annoyed but finding he didn’t even respond, just wolfing down breakfast without a word.
As she was about to speak, raising a hand, the old man let out a belch, wiping his mouth and standing up, groaning a bit. He was armored as much as the other two Sunvarr, wearing a necklace of bear teeth and fur on his shoulders like a cape. His brown, full beard was greying, and as he turned, he focused his two mismatched eyes, one yellow and the other milky grey, directly on Zelith. For a moment he just looked at her, his breath heavy, before he pounded a fist into his chest.
“Zarucan,” he bellowed out. “Old Bear is fine.”
He gestured towards Grey.
“The Grey Storm. Daughter,” he said, and then rolled his head a bit towards Kevyn at the end of the table. “Flotsam. Or Kevyn, as he calls himself.”
“Screw yourself, old man,” Kevyn half-whispered into his mug as Grey turned and punched his arm, causing the man to wince a bit but not respond much beyond that.
Zarucan stared at the two impassively before turning to Zelith.
“Twig mage. Name?” he said, cracking his knuckles and not looking her in the eyes.
“Zelith. Zelith Vachon.”
The old bear nodded, still not looking at her as he pulled a knife from his belt, picking at one of his teeth with the end.
“Drills in five,” he said. “Then, we hunt.”
Zelith looked out over the water as the two Sunvarr were run through drills behind her. She’d glanced back at Grey a few times before cursing her wandering eyes and returning back to the shifting surf of the bay. Zarucan hadn’t insisted she join the training, although she had a feeling that would change if she stuck around.
As she focused in on a gull sitting on an outcropping out in the water, from the corner of her vision a familiar rowboat appeared, the passenger’s red hair drawing her eyes back over. Relief washed over her as Conall looked over and waved, moving up to the side of the ship and starting to climb up the rigging.
“By Mindol, you’re alright,” Conall said, letting out a clear breath of relief as he climbed up over the railing and hugged Zelith. “You had me worried. The old man said something about…demon hunting?”
Zelith nodded, glancing back towards the Sunvaar.
“I made a deal, for the money I stole,” she said. “I help them hunt the demon down, I keep the money. Nobody gets in trouble.”
Conall put his hands in his pockets, leaning on the railing and looking at the hunters.
“Well. I’ll help,” he said, grinning a bit awkwardly. “I know more people, after all. Can look for leads, stuff like that. That and…don’t want to break up the team.”
The two sat in silence looking at the drills, Conall eventually leaning a bit closer.
“…So which of them was it?” he asked, causing Zelith to immediately blush.
“My business. You can guess, anyway,” Zelith grumbled, pouting as she glanced at her friend.
“I really can’t,” Conall said, actually smirking a bit. “You had a crush on a talking sword once, remember?”
“He was really nice,” Zelith immediately shot back, the blush only getting worse as she fidgeted with her hands. “And if you must know, Grey. The uh…wolf one.”
Conall didn’t say anything to that, just sitting back on the railing and nodding. After a few more minutes, the Sunvarr wrapped up, Grey walking up to the two of them.
“Time for the hunt!”
The groups had been split up unevenly, Kevyn and the Old Bear splitting off to check the bars and seedier places while Grey, Zelith, and Conall had been assigned to check the streets.
The streets were getting busier, Grey pacing a bit, looking a bit agitated as she looked through the crowds heading towards the canals, eventually stalking up to Zelith.
“This will take forever. Do that thing, from last night. Move us through the city fast,” she said. “We can cover more ground.”
Zelith felt a pit in her stomach as she looked around.
“I mean, I didn’t…I don’t know how. I didn’t even know I could manage that until I…did it,” she said, rubbing the back of her head and looking embarrassed. “I’ve never managed before.
Grey’s eyes narrow a bit, looking down at Zelith.
“…You teleported us across the city last night, kissing me the whole time, and you do not know how to do it,” she said bluntly, Zelith looking even more embarrassed as the wolf woman looked at her before chuckling. “Fine. All you need is motivation.”
As Conall raised an eyebrow, Grey leaned close, whispering into Zelith’s ear.
“If you can cast that spell again, you get another night. Fair?”
Zelith stared, her mind running to a halt as the familiar sensation from the night before. No thinking, just doing. Instinct.
“…Hold on tight, both of you,” she said simply, holding up her hands and starting to draw a pattern of burning blue stars in the air in front of her. Flickering blue flames danced across her horns, and Grey and Conall both moved to touch a shoulder.
With a flash, the three disappeared, leaving just the blue flames hanging in the air for a moment…and, faint but now visible, a red flame suspended in the air below them.
Strike The Horizon 