Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Six years ago.
Within the stifling mire most commonly known as the Grimm, each breath felt like drinking from a stagnant swamp of rotting plant matter. Humid air clung to every part of Nakir and his two companions, their clothing sticking uncomfortably to their skin as they trekked through the haunted jungle.
But while Balthasar stalked silently ahead, using his machete to make a path forward, their third party member’s questions never ended.
“Is it true you helped Professor Kentigern take down an entire sect of Forsaken terrorizing a desert town in Rai’Sharr?” The earnest voice sounded from behind Nakir, pricking his ears over the hush of the swamps.
Amidst the murky gloom, the young scholar emerged, his mousy brown hair clinging damp to his forehead.
His glasses, speckled with humidity—or maybe perspiration—perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he trudged through the squelching mud.
The sleeves of his tattered robe were rolled up, revealing ink-stained hands that clutched his leather satchel, and his once pristine clothes were now stained with the swamp’s earthy hues.
The boy’s worn boots sloshed through puddles as he navigated the treacherous terrain.
“I fail to see how that’s relevant to what we’re doing.”
After three days of stumbling through the sweltering jungles of southern Azmarin, Nakir’s patience was paper-thin. His own clothes were perpetually damp, and he knew he reeked of something foul. He didn’t want to think about the way his socks may never be dry again.
Mika Silverlock only shrugged, nearly stumbling over a rotten log. “It’s not... But it is really cool. Were they just Forsaken, or had they become full-blown Revenants?”
“Again. Irrelevant.”
“But...?”
Nakir rolled his eyes, feeling Balthasar’s smirk even without being able to see his face. “They were Forsaken.”
“The Forsaken are so fascinating... Though not nearly as fascinating as dragons. Have you ever met a dragon? Professor Kentigern talks about them all the time.”
“I don’t think there are any dragons left.”
“I never understood that. They’re the most powerful of all the bloodlines. How did they all disappear?”
“As an Aeshlien, I take that personally.” Nakir wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, trying to regain a touch of humor despite traversing such an inhospitable landscape.
“Can Aeshlien shift into a large reptilian beast of incredible destruction?”
“No, but we are witty and brave. And everyone loves an underdog.” Nakir heard Balthasar snicker from up ahead.
“So you’ve never met a dragon?”
This kid never stopped.
“Not that I know of.”
“What about a Wolven?”
Nakir sighed, shaking his damp hair out of his face and trying to shove it behind his horns. “Are you just going through all the bloodlines right now?”
“I only ask because you’re close with the professor.
And he teaches advanced seminars about the bloodlines and what they can do.
I bet you met so many of them when you studied with him!
You were so lucky to be his protégé, to go on adventures with him outside the confines of the Academy. You know. Before you lost your magic.”
The pang hit Nakir right in his chest, pulling the breath out of him. “Does he talk about that too?” His voice was quiet, shame tightening his throat.
“No,” Mika replied. “I mean, not exactly. He... warns us about burnout. One of the girls in the mage class... Well, you know what happened to Elena.”
Yes. Nakir did know about Elena Sideris. He felt the loss of her deeply, in a place he wasn’t willing to let himself dive into without a bottle of alcohol in his hands.
“Was it painful?” Mika questioned. “When you burned out?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Nakir snapped back, in his frustration nearly letting a branch hit the scholar in the shoulder.
If Mika noticed, he didn’t care. “No... I don’t suppose it’s important to me anyway. I’m not a mage, just a humble arcanist.”
Nakir let out a long sigh, studying the withering trail in front of them, unable to stop himself from ruminating on the fact they were painfully lost.
At least they had a trail. The trodden path continued south, nature trampled into tenuous submission by a great many creatures. Even still, it sought to reclaim its lost land, and the underbrush had grown out onto the path like a bad haircut.
He slapped his own neck at the sudden prickling of a mosquito on his skin, irritation mounting to a new height.
Balthasar pushed through the low foliage ahead of him, panting from the exertion of fitting through the often narrow tree line.
Sweat dripped down their faces, necks, and backs.
Everywhere else in the world was celebrating a beautiful late winter, but the jungle still reached uncomfortable temperatures.
Mika stopped, staring at the faded parchment in his hands. “Uh-oh. I think we went in a circle... again.”
“I thought you knew where we were going,” Nakir bit back, his tone sharper than the blade he kept at the ready. The Grimm was unforgiving, and wandering too far into uncharted territory could prove fatal.
“I do!” the young arcanist assured him, wiping the sweat from his brow. He pushed his damp hair out of his face, brown eyes scanning the map in his hands. “I do. It shouldn’t be far. We’re almost there!”
“I swear to Aeshma he said that an hour ago,” Nakir growled to Balthasar, who only sighed.
“I promise, it shouldn’t be far.”
Anyone else would be wise to fear the Aeshlien’s temper, but Mika simply waltzed forward with a bewildered grin, unperturbed by the viciousness in Nakir’s eyes.
“It’s all right, kid,” Balthasar promised, turning to the young man with an encouraging, if worn, smile. The Empath’s patience was endless. Meanwhile, Nakir was struggling to contain his rising temper.
Three days they’d been in the Grimm. But it hadn’t been just three days of searching. No, for Nakir and Balthasar, this particular quest had gone on for five years. In all that time, they had never found even a whisper of a weapon or an item called the Truth-Teller.
So when a friend of Emi’s from the Crystalline Academy told her about an enchanted item he’d been researching, rumored to grant the wielder a single wish, Nakir knew he would be willing to do anything to find it.
“Well, it’s not exactly a wish,” Mika had explained upon their initial meeting in the library of the Crystalline Academy, pushing his metal-framed spectacles up his long nose as he poured over tomes older than the Empire itself.
“There are presumably limitations. I don’t suspect it’s strong enough to revive anyone who has died.
Or change the past in any way. It’s called Dreamseeker.
It’s supposed to help mortals achieve their dreams.”
Mika had claimed to know exactly how to find it, despite having never set foot in the Grimm before, and he’d readily struck a deal with Nakir and Balthasar to guide them directly to it. Nakir would use it, and then he would give it to Mika as payment, and they would all go their separate ways.
He’d had no idea how insufferable Mika would be, though, with his constant questions about Nakir, his history, how he lost his magic, how he was going to get his kingdom back, or the various bloodlines of the Four Kingdoms. And yet no matter how irritable Nakir was with him, Mika’s spirit and spunk never wavered.
Nakir had seen Roman execute people for less.
“We should be so close!” Mika exclaimed, excitement lighting up his mosquito-bitten face. “I can’t believe it. After years of research... we’re nearly there. I can feel it!”
Nakir rolled his eyes as he pushed ahead, swinging his blade to clear a path in front of him.
“What’s that?” Balthasar asked, squinting into the late-afternoon sun.
“A clearing,” Nakir replied. Finally.
Boughs from towering trees stooped low to cradle this silent, serene reprieve from the jungle. Nakir stopped to feel the smooth stones there, enduring reminders of nature’s permanence, before noticing the remnants of a large stone shelter covered by the slow movement of the green underbrush.
Just in the middle of the foliage, he could see something... A single wooden door, overgrown with moss and vines. Nakir had never been so thrilled to see a few pieces of wood held together with rusting metal.
“There it is!” Mika’s thrill was infectious as he ran forward, hastily folding the map and shoving it into a side pocket of his overfilled pack.
“Whoa!” Nakir grabbed the young arcanist by his pack, halting his movement. “Check for traps first.”
Mika swallowed, nodding, pale cheeks reddening. “Right.”
The three of them carefully investigated the door and its surrounding areas for any signs of danger before they were confident enough to continue.
Balthasar was the only one strong enough to pull the door open, its edges having warped and shifted over the years, leaving it stuck against the stone.
Even after he’d managed to wrench it open, several stones from the ceiling and the walls fell free, tumbling down the stairs and filling the newly exposed corridor with dust.
Mika coughed, waving the dust away and covering his mouth with a handkerchief.
“Here it is,” he whispered, looking between Balthasar and Nakir in awe. “I can’t believe we found it. I... I can’t believe it’s real.”
“We’re not there yet, kid,” Balthasar reminded him, clapping a large hand on his shoulder. “Keep your eyes peeled. Can you tell us again what we’re looking for?”
“Right. Yeah! Well.” Mika scrambled for his pack, withdrawing one of the aged tomes he’d dragged along on this perilous journey.
The ancient pages were wrinkled and warped from days spent in the humid climate of the Grimm.
Mika flipped through them to a faded drawing of a mural.
The sketch was crude, but Nakir could see the faint depiction of Nehalennia, her hair flowing behind her as she aimed a bow and arrow at a massive stag.
“This,” Mika told them. “This is what we’re looking for. ”