6. Sarilian
six
Sarilian
Sarilian had thought Daybreak a marvel, grander than anything ever constructed on the Mortal Realm. But gazing upon Twilight with his darkvision-enhanced sight, he felt certain he’d found suitable competition.
While Daybreak had been built to feel light and airy, a city of gilded spirals stretching impossibly high toward the Dawnlands’ glowing sky, Twilight was the exact opposite.
Black and gray buildings were crammed so tightly together that you’d have to squeeze to fit through many of the narrow passages left between them.
There was none of Daybreak’s carefully maintained uniformity.
Instead, a mishmash of architectural styles competed for your attention, each more elaborate than the last. Striated patterns in more shades of gray than Sarilian would’ve dreamed existed flickered over everything, bringing the buildings and streets to murky life.
Beside him, Malorg shifted, his voice soft when he spoke. “The dome is my favorite.”
Sarilian’s eyes drifted upward, and he drew in a sharp breath.
Where he’d expected to find curved dark stone blotting out the sky, he instead found an ever-changing vista.
Unlike the more abstract patterns on display elsewhere, the lines of the dome traced things Sarilian recognized, alternating at random intervals.
There, a series of faces, soon replaced by an intricate map of the Mortal Realm, only to shimmer and reform again into a simulated night sky replete with orbiting planets and twinkling stars.
“You know, it’s strange,” Malorg said as the night sky shifted to an impression of a raging storm with roiling clouds and flashes of lightning. “I’ve never actually seen most of the things the dome depicts. How could I have when they are from the Mortal Realm? And yet…”
“And yet, they seem familiar all the same,” Sarilian replied.
He turned to find Malorg giving him an inscrutable look.
Sarilian realized then how close they stood to one another, their shoulders almost brushing.
He fought the urge to lean in. Not because he didn’t want to—there was no denying the pull the enigmatic Infernal had on him, even if he couldn’t explain it—but because he wasn’t sure how Malorg would react if he did.
Does he feel our connection as well?
Instead of giving in to his desire, Sarilian said, “Thank you. For showing me this.”
The barest hint of a smile flickered over Malorg’s lips. “This? This is only the beginning. Come.”
He offered his hand again, and Sarilian took it without hesitation, relishing the strange chill the contact sent radiating through him. He could no longer tell if that was an effect of the duskflame or simply his reaction to Malorg’s touch.
Sarilian let his eyes rove around as Malorg led them deeper into the city.
There was so much to see, each new building or street a grand monument onto itself.
The overall effect should have been discordant.
Yet somehow, engulfed in the perpetual darkness of the Dusklands, it conveyed ephemeral beauty instead of madness.
This wasn’t the purposeless chaos of the Void but freedom of expression—a testament to individual wills with competing visions that nevertheless united to create something greater than their disparate parts.
“Is it me, or are the streets too empty?” Sarilian murmured to Malorg. He’d spotted only a handful of Infernals, most of those glimpsed from afar on balconies or rooftops.
“Oh, there are plenty of us here. You simply need to know where to look.”
Squinting, Sarilian performed a more careful survey of their surroundings. The street appeared deserted save for them and the shifting patterns that coated every surface.
“I don’t—” he began to say, cutting off when an Infernal suddenly materialized right beside them.
Sarilian tensed, bracing himself for a fight, but the Infernal gave them only the barest of passing glances before continuing on her way, vanishing through a door Sarilian hadn’t even noticed set into a nearby wall.
Duskwalking, he realized, his eyes widening as he took in the countless shadows flitting past. He’d assumed them all part of the magic of this place, but many must be Infernals using their duskflame to quickly travel from place to place.
That also helped explain the narrow streets and even narrower alleys.
There was no need for anything wider than a crack when you could sink into the shadows at will.
“Doesn’t all that duskwalking get exhausting?” he asked, watching a dark blur rush past them and vanish up the side of a building.
A couple of steps ahead of him, Malorg shrugged. “Does maintaining your armor and spear wear you out?”
Sarilian considered the question as Malorg led them down an alley so tight, they had to turn sideways to fit. “I suppose not. Only when I’ve already exhausted my magic. With a full reserve, it’s as easy as breathing.”
Malorg shrugged again as if to say, Well, there you go. “Same for us with duskwalking. It’s the first thing new arrivals are taught: a method of travel and defense both.”
Sarilian snorted, brushing a hand over his tunic. “Personally, I’d prefer armor to blunt a voidspawn’s claws.”
“What need is there for armor when you can simply avoid getting hit?”
Sarilian rolled his eyes at the Infernal’s back, but before he could reply, they were out of the narrow alley and into… Once again, Sarilian found himself at a loss for words, only capable of staring.
Malorg kept walking for a moment before he realized Sarilian had stopped. He looked back, eyes questioning. “You coming?”
Sarilian swallowed, slowly scanning the area. “What is this place?”
The corners of Malorg’s lips twitched. “This is the Market.”
Hundreds of Infernals filled the cavernous room, browsing stands erected in no discernible organization. Like a tiny version of Twilight itself, each had a unique style, some curved and low, others towering over the crowd.
Sarilian’s eyes locked on one of the stalls, and he pointed. “Hey, that one looks like Daybreak!”
Malorg tracked Sarilian’s indignant finger to the black-spired stall, faint amusement plain on his face. “So it does. Rather improved though, don’t you think?”
Sarilian grinned. “Hey, not everything needs to be a wild mess to be engaging! Daybreak is spectacular enough just as it is. It…” He trailed off as he fully registered what Malorg had said. “Hold on. How do you know what Daybreak looks like?”
In an instant, Malorg’s mirth vanished, replaced by his usual stoic mask. “Let’s go.” He resumed walking, cutting a path through the crowd. Sarilian hurried to catch up, cursing the unfair advantage Malorg’s ability to slide in and out of the shadows offered him.
Just when he’d given up on an answer, Malorg said, “I visited as an emissary once.”
“An emissary?” Sarilian prompted when Malorg didn’t offer any more.
Malorg gave a curt nod as he slipped past a pair of chatting Infernals. “It was a long time ago.”
Sarilian tried to follow and ended up bumping into them, apologizing profusely while they berated him for not watching his step.
The irate Infernals fell abruptly silent when they noticed Malorg glowering at Sarilian’s side.
Their eyes widening with fear, they stammered apologies of their own before fleeing into the crowd.
Sarilian watched them go before turning to Malorg. “Do you know them?”
Malorg’s lips pressed into a thin line as he resumed walking. “Twilight is a small place.”
Another deflection. Despite his burning curiosity, Sarilian decided it was best not to push. Given Malorg’s current tense demeanor, that might only make him close up even more. Instead, Sarilian focused back on their surroundings.
“You said this was a market? Does that mean this is where your people come for supplies?”
Malorg gave him an odd look. “It means this is a market. Surely, you know enough of the Mortal Realm to recall those. Where people exchange currency for goods and services?”
Sarilian’s brow shot up. “Hold on—you’re telling me you Infernals still charge one another for things?
” It seemed like such an outlandish concept to him.
In the Mortal Realm where resources were scarce, such systems made sense.
But the Immortal Realm provided all they needed.
They could shape their magic into anything they desired, and nothing ever wore down or degraded. “What do you even use for currency?”
Malorg produced a small pouch and proffered it to Sarilian. Curious, Sarilian reached inside, pulling out a black coin with a gray mark on it depicting a stylized crown.
“Courtesy of the Dusk Aspect of Ambition,” Malorg explained with an odd note to his voice while Sarilian turned the innocuous object over in his hands. “Imbued with the duskflame signature of his seat to thwart any attempts at counterfeiting.”
“But…why?” Sarilian demanded, flabbergasted. “What’s the point?”
“There isn’t one—at least, not that I ever saw.
” Malorg turned his head to take in the stalls and haggling Infernals around them.
“But I suppose for others, it represents something to strive for beyond slaying voidspawn. Those with more wealth are afforded greater prestige and granted better assignments, more luxurious quarters, and increased favor by the Dusk Council.” Malorg’s expression darkened.
“Such achievements give their lives meaning.”
Despite the tightness on Malorg’s face, Sarilian didn’t miss his wistful tone. Meaning that you feel your own life lacks, Sarilian guessed, studying the Infernal’s back as they resumed walking.
He wished he had the words to offer comfort, but he wasn’t certain what more to say than he already had.
Besides, no matter how desperate Malorg’s need for purpose was, Sarilian doubted he’d find it here.
The pursuit of wealth might be ingrained in Infernal culture, but to Sarilian, it seemed like a poorly disguised ploy to raise the few while suppressing the many.