Staring off into the horizon as the sunset in the distance, Solister and Aaron spoke in hushed voices.
"You knew this wasn't the right direction to my room. Why did you bring me here?"
The blond boy spoke first, his gaze locked on the first mate of the Sea King, traces of concern evident in his tone.
Beside him, the man leaned against the metal balcony, sighing hard before speaking aloud with strain.
"So, ya figured it out?"
Biting his lip, the turquoise-eyed boy shook his head, replying quietly.
"I've run down these halls more times than I can count, and you passed three paths straight to my room. Safe to say I could figure it out quite easily…"
Rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the cityscape that glowed in the evening shine, he heard the commander scoff.
"No need to be so rude about it…"
He paused, taking a deep breath before stopping himself and sitting down right where he stood.
"Eh, no need to lie anymore. I brought you out here to talk to you about that little Soul Pact of yours."
Aaron's brow furrowed deep as he heard the words from the man's mouth, the reality of what he had said colliding with his worry.
T-This isn't good…
Pursing his lips and groaning, the blond boy spoke.
"If you're here to offer that deal again, I must decline. As you know, my Soul Pact is extremely restrictive and, like most, I'm unable to form multiple at a time."
A strong gust of wind blew through the edges of Chrone Castle, muffling his voice as he replied; however, Solister heard all he needed to hear.
"I understand dat. However, my captain is in a contract with Death himself, as you know. With dat in mind, for most Soul Pacts, under the agreement of one of the parties, he can break it apart."
Aaron's eyes widened, his heart rate shooting up to the maximum as he thought of what that would mean.
Lord Droskyn would break a pact with the Old Man? T-That would be a death sentence…
Practically sputtering out his response, the boy's flustered hand gestures startled the King commander.
"N-No! He doesn't have my consent for that! I-It would be awful if he did…"
Seeing him acting so strangely, the black-haired man got up and took a step towards the boy, his expression blank.
"What do ya mean awful?"
There was no friendliness left in his voice, seemingly erased by one slip-up of words the turquoise-eyed boy made while standing his ground.
I can't tell him about the Ghostship or the Old Man… Dammit! Think, think, think! There has to be something he would–
His thought took a sudden turn as he remembered Cauron Thorn's odd gaze at him in the lecture hall, his curiosity evident yet not breaking through.
H-He must've tried to see inside my head… That's why that god, Penelope, and the Naelith were acting so weird! But I don't remember a thing…
Slow realization dawned across his face, his metallic leg forcing him to take a step back, the material taken from a terror reacting to the threatening aura as the first-mate approached.
That means he must know that something is preventing him from accessing my mindscape, but what could realistically scare off a Sea King other than a…
He froze, the memory of what Ezra and Cam had told him the night prior ringing in his skull with the push of an unknown force spurring the idea forward.
T-That newspaper article had that one Marshal who caught my eye… What was his name again…
Closing his eyes and taking a strained breath, he remembered what was written in the paper, the face of the Star-Drowned Marshal himself appearing in his mind.
"I-I'm like Marshal Astelion!"
The sound of the commander's footsteps halted as he froze in place, his pupils contracting and his brow furrowing.
This was because while Sea Kings were the most prominent contractors of the gods, others with proper mediums could achieve a much smaller fraction of their power.
Eren Astelion, the Star-Drowned Marshal of the Sea of Dreams, was one of these nigh-impossible cases.
Widely sourced through Hunters' Guild documents, it was reported that he had made a contract with the God of Illusions.
This, by proxy, allowed him to rise through the ranks of the Hunters' Guild as if he were a weaker version of a Sea King.
Solister Lune knew of this fact, as most powerful people did; however, if it was confirmed that another individual had made a contract with a god, just like the Marshal, that would be groundbreaking news.
"Ya contracted with a god? Eh? That'd make a wee bit of sense…"
Stroking his chin slowly, an idea came to his mind, one that made his brow furrow again.
"What god is it?"
Aaron's expression paled, the feeling of the deity within his own mind creeping forward, preparing to deal with the threat, making his head throb as if it was about to explode.
W-what god could I—
Penelope's previous words resounded through his ears like fire, the smell laced within the air entering his lungs as he spoke aloud.
"The God of Poison..."
…
On October 40th, Aaron waited inside that very same cafe where he had previously followed Raphael.
This time, however, he had purposely scheduled his meeting with someone else to end at the same time that the white-haired noble would arrive.
Looking down at his watch, he noted the time was eight in the morning exactly.
Just at that moment, the sound of the shop bell going off rang through the room.
As he looked up, he was greeted with the blue-eyed gaze of Akari Ayaka, her freshly regrown pink braids drooping down her back.
Her cheeks and ears were slightly red, a sign that Aaron marked down to the cold morning air outside in the desert.
"Good morning."
Calling out to her in a friendly tone, he stood up and scooted back a chair for the girl to sit on.
"Thank you…"
Sitting down and facing the boy, she seemed to be nervous about whatever the topic of the discussion would be, the blond boy not quite realizing that his message was too vague.
To Akari.
He had written with his best handwriting.
I hope you are doing well after what happened in the Bay of Thorn. There is something I need to tell you in the Cafe located on Seventh Street. Be there at eight in the morning.
At the very end of the short message, he had signed it with the ancient Nordic word for 'Love', a term that made Miss Ayaka quite fidgety at the time of receiving it.
Aaron, of course, had not known of this meaning; in reality, he had grabbed a random paper on which he had been scribbling random symbols he could recall and written the letter on the back.
This miscommunication and, frankly, awkward misunderstanding had not yet been figured out between the pair, and as they continued to talk, the situation would only grow worse.
Sitting face to face, Aaron opened his mouth to speak, and the girl braced herself silently.
"Akari… You know what I'm going to say, right?"
He heard her breath hitch, her face, which he believed to be flushed because of the cold temperature outside, somehow turned an even deeper shade of red, despite the cafe's warmth.
Is she okay?
Shrugging off the thought, he heard her voice come out in less than a squeak.
"N-no idea…"
Nodding his head and sighing hard, he ran his hand through his hair while replying.
"Really? I thought I had been pretty forward with it… I'd hope you, of all people, would know it too since it's about you."
There was another deafening silence that fell over the table as the girl buried her face in her hands, whispers coming from behind her guard.
"What was that?"
Hearing one of the murmurs slightly, Aaron posed the question only to narrowly avoid getting slapped by the pink-haired girl.
"Nothing!"
Moving his chair backwards, he discreetly got out of her slapping range and crossed his legs to prevent Akari's signature move, then spoke again.
"Well, if you can't remember, then I'll only tell it to you once. And please, when I tell you this, trust that you are the only person I'd want for this."
The girl's entire complexion seemed to explode as she practically collapsed inward, the squeals coming from her only worsening Aaron's confusion.
Taking a deep breath, he confessed his thoughts out loud.
"You need to be the one to face me in the finals of the Tournament."
There was no noise as the girl stopped shifting in her place, her hands slowly slipping away from her face.
Underneath her left eye, there was a visible vein bulging out and pulsating dangerously, her expression blank and as hard as stone.
Balling her fists into tight weapons of destruction, she retracted them and stood up, slowly walking over to Aaron's side.
"Eh? What are you—"
He had no further chance to speak, the girl's fist colliding with his stomach before he could even think of the reason for her strange behaviour.
As he kneeled over in pain, she slapped him twice, then turned on her heel and walked out of the building, a loud 'hmph' coming from her mouth as she did.
The blond boy himself lay sprawled across the table, his eyes watching the dozen or so people in the cafe stare at him with pained looks.
The same regulars who had been there yesterday to see Raphael walk out on him now saw another person, a young girl, leave him in the same place.
From behind the counter, a man emerged, holding a glass of terror milk in one hand and offering it to the boy.
Placing it on the table and patting the boy on the back, he walked away, the words coming from his mouth making Aaron groan even louder.
"Sorry, kid."