"Nothing we do can reverse the actions of our predecessors! I say we continue till the breaking point. He may abandon us, but he will not turn on us."
-Heard by the 4th council member after number 3005.
Both Carrie and Mark sat hesitantly behind a door. It had been a few days since Carrie's kidnapping and they had made it to Marshe relatively quickly. Carrie didn't know what had happened in the forge, nor why Mark and Grace seemed hesitant to talk to Green afterwards.
All's she knew was that Grace had shook off her apparent shock and was now screaming at Green on the other side of the door. Carrie looked up at Mark, who was awkwardly smiling. She smiled back.
"Is this common?" Carrie asked.
"No," Mark replied. "But it has happened several times before, so I've learned how to deal with it."
"Have any tips?" Carrie asked sarcastically.
"Hm, let siblings be siblings," Mark answered with a playful tone.
They sat there for a moment, uncomfortable at the screams that were still coming from the other side of the door. Most coming from Grace, but a surprising few coming from Green.
"What happened in the forge?" Carrie asked.
"I don't know," Mark answered truthfully. "Green wasn't in a particularly good mood when he came to help. Though, when is he ever in a good mood?" Mark chuckled.
"Something feels different about him Mark," Carrie said. "Ever since that Target Fest, he feels strange."
Mark nodded, "I noticed."
The two of them sat awkwardly for a few moments.
"Do you know what a Novexor is?" Carrie asked.
"No," Mark responded.
"It's an elf that can't use the arts," Carrie answered. "I'm a Novexor. I can't use the arts but I can do something else."
"Like what?"
"See someone's soul,"
Mark leaned in, "how do you mean?"
"Well, all Elves can see the spirits of both people and things," Carrie answered, "but I see more. It was something my father called an aura. To tell you the truth, at the beginning, my interest in Green came from his soul. It was such a brilliant silver. And it shone with such a powerful light, like a knight's armor. It felt warm, like a blanket wrapped around me."
Carrie hesitated for a moment, then spoke further. "Then it turned red," she said, wrapping her arms around herself, her tone shifting from wonder to discomfort. "A deep crimson red that tried to consume every part of who I am." Carrie shook visibly. "It felt like I was staring at Death himself."
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted with the door opening. Grace walked in, followed by Green, who had his left eye closed—still not having a replacement for his glasses.
Grace moved to sit, but Green went for the door outside.
"Don't come back until you're ready to apologize!" Grace shouted.
Green paused, then slammed the door shut behind him.
Grace sighed, "I swear that boy can be such a child sometimes."
Mark put his arm around Grace, "well according to Carrie, he is a child. An infant actually." Mark grinned, but Grace and Carrie didn't respond. "How bad?"
"Worse," Grace answered simply. "I've seen his highs and lows, and I can usually handle things. But this time feels different for some reason. He feels different."
"His soul is mixing with something," Carrie said, getting the attention of the two.
"What was that?" Mark asked. "What do you mean?"
"Red and silver," Carrie said, "they're mixing."
"What does that mean?" Mark asked.
Carrie shook her head, "I don't know, the last Novexor… she was supposed to teach me but—"
"You never got the chance?" Mark asked.
Carrie shook her head, "she died before she could teach me. But I know it's not something good."
Green slammed the door shut behind him, a cold breeze brushing his cheeks. Winter was on its way, but the chill didn't matter.
He looked up and jumped, grabbing the edge of the roof, he pulled himself up. Morning light attempted to blind him as it edged over the eastern mountains.
His hands were clenched. He wouldn't be able to sit still today. So he jumped down from the roof, landing without much trouble. Though he got stares from the surrounding people, he didn't care.
He joined the flow of pedestrians. At five foot seven, it was easy to feel hidden behind everyone else. He walked in a crowd not so large that he bumped into someone, but large enough to hide.
A man suddenly bumped into him, Green kept his head down, letting his long hair cover any sight of his eyes, and tried walking past him. The man grabbed his arm.
"Hey!" the man barked. "You gonna apologize for that!?"
Green looked up, the man froze, then removed his hand.
"S-sorry, pal," he muttered, backing off.
Green kept moving, not sure what to think. He hadn't done anything wrong. Grace could say what she wanted—he'd respected Carrie's choice. Green wasn't at fault.
His jaw tightened. The feeling wouldn't go away. Not guilt, exactly. Not just anger either. Something harder to name.
He touched his face. Right, he thought. I need new glasses.
He walked. This city still had the shop. After a few turns through narrow streets, he found it and stepped inside.
"Hey," said the shopkeeper. "What can I do for you?"
"I need a new pair. Like these." Green set his broken glasses on the counter.
The man picked them up. "These are dark. Are you planning to stare at the sun?"
"How much?"
"Fourteen eighth-raches," the man said. "Might take a while—this isn't a standard design."
Green nodded, laid down half the payment. The man slid the coins over and disappeared into the back.
Green moved to step outside. He didn't feel like standing still. That only gave him space to think. He didn't want to think right now.
But it kept pressing in—whatever was stuck inside just kept coming out. He couldn't swallow it.
The moment he walked out the door however, he saw two figures watching him. One out in the open. One behind a second-story window across the street. A trap, Green thought.
If he ran, they'd chase. If he charged one, the other would follow through. And playing dumb wouldn't work.
Green felt an instant relief. This was a problem he could handle. They had been following him for a while now, Green actually recognized the one in the open as the one who threatened him in Nurks.
It's time for the hunt to end, Green thought. It was likely that they knew his capabilities, they knew he would notice them.
Green didn't smile. His chest tightened whenever he tried, he didn't deserve to smile. That was what logic told him anyway.
So he tilted his head to meet the eyes of the one out in the open. He had something inside him. A frustration, a type of anger. Whatever it was, it set him off thinking about it.
It was a fun chase, wasn't it? Green thought.
He would let himself fall for these people's trap. He began making his way to the man out in the open. The man turned, and sprinted in the opposite direction.
Green bolted. It wasn't that he wanted to fight, nor that he thought he was going against his will by fighting. He didn't know what to think, didn't know how to describe why he intended to fight.
It wasn't out of desire or necessity, he couldn't place it. Sure these people were likely from the Conexe, and so a tousle with them was inevitable. But he couldn't escape the emptiness that followed him.
Is that what it is? Green thought, emptiness?
He had felt empty several years before. On that day he was pushed to do what he never thought he would. He had felt empty then. And this wasn't the same. It was similar, but not the same.
True to his predictions, he noticed a small figure running on a roof across the street. Paipites, Green thought. The one he was chasing was one too. Paipites were smaller, faster, and stronger than even athletic humans. Even as an elf, without the arts, Green stood no chance in catching them.
Yet I'm right on this one's tail, Green thought. This was a trap. And Green intended to run straight into it. One Paipite dropped several dozen paces away from Green and his quarry, causing his quarry to speed up, and turn.
As if demonstrating their skill, his quarry executed a one-eighty turn without losing momentum. A higher rank, huh? Green mused. Executing such a move marked this Paipite as advanced in Kaisher. He might even be at a similar level of training as Green himself.
But the biggest leak of information these Paipites gave him, was the fact that his gaze didn't faze them. They knew who he was, and intended to fight him regardless.
They weren't part of the Conexe. Green almost smiled at this. The humor of the situation was ridiculous.
They clashed. The left Paipite palmed with his right, and the right palmed with his left. Green outstretched his arms, meeting both of their hands with his own. And whilst all three were still running, Green gripped their hands and snapped his own to the side.
They passed each other with Green going between them and slid his feet as if on ice, spinning around to face them with a smooth motion.
There have been, of course, other ways to get around their assault. But if they were so inclined to show him their skill, he would do the courtesy of the same.
The two Paipites, clad in black cloaks, detached the cloaks from their shoulders. Several more Paipites dropped from adjacent rooftops, still wearing their cloaks.
Nearby pedestrians looked on with a mixture of confusion and irritation at the other Paipites blocking their way. A total of twenty Paipites were surrounding Green and the two now cloakless Paipites in a circle, giving them space.
And the two started doing light stretches, something to help them think. It was ingrained in every Paipite to stretch when thinking. That was where Green had gotten it as well.
A clean two on one huh? Green questioned. The two cloakless Paipites wore black and ashgrey, the same as Green actually. It wasn't mimicry, it was the symbol of their origins. Origins Green couldn't put aside no matter how badly he wanted to.
The Paipites separated with a quick motion, running around Green. And so it begins, Green thought.
The first Paipite jumped at him from the side—leaping a good five feet into the air and spinning into a seven-twenty. Once again displaying their skill—and tried palming his neck.
Green reached up, meeting the Paipite's palm with his right hand, then went for a strike with his left. Green palmed the things gut, but the Paipite's other hand stopped it just short, catching Green's.
The grip on his left hand was strong, so Green didn't try to shove him off, but instead spun around, and gripped the second Paipite's palm with his free right hand, and pulled him in.
He jumped back, letting the two Paipites clash.
They stared at one another. Though plenty of blows had been given, none had been taken. A quiet understanding filled the area. Whoever got hit would forfeit the fight.
Green entered into a battle stance and the two Paipites followed suit. Then began their fight.
Grace turned the corner of the street. People packed the roads where horse drawn carriages rolled by.
Mark thought it best to follow Green. And despite Grace wanting him to act like an adult and apologize, Her conversation with Carrie had made it clear that Green was acting even more strangely than she had realized.
It still bothered her, but she knew it was best to call him back. However…
"Where did you go, Green?" Graced asked herself with a sigh.
She went for him only a minute or two after he left, but he was long gone by then. And with the large crowds piling up in the streets, it was hard to find a specific person. Especially when that someone was as short as Green. Even she was taller than him at five foot eight.
Grace stopped when she reached a large crowd. She moved to enter an adjacent street to go around, but the street was filled with people moving steadily forward. Only a small section, cordoned off, remained inaccessible.
She looked up at a two story building, then sighed again. She started to climb. She wasn't near as good as either Green or Mark, and she almost fell a few times. She pushed through however, and climbed to the top.
Looking up from having her hands on her knees she saw above the crown to find Green fighting two Paipites.
Green fought better than he had on the train. These Paipites were different—faster, sharper—but far more skilled. He wasn't stronger now because he'd improved, though he had regained his former precision. He fought better because this time, he wasn't fighting for anyone else.
He didn't fight to protect. He fought because he needed to. He fought the unease twisting in his gut, the lump in his throat that choked his focus, the noise in his head that clouded his aim. But most of all, he fought the ones standing before him.
He would not dishonor them by turning this into therapy. He would fight them honestly—more fiercely than he fought himself.
Some would call that monstrous, to value the purity of combat over his duties or care. But that was who he was. He was no hero. No benevolent elf extending a hand in mercy.
He was the one thing in this world everyone could hate.
He would never accept his emotions. He would fight them until they tore him apart. And when they did, he would accept the ruin as his due.
I will not do this world a favor by dying, Green thought.
Green slid back, boots grinding against the dirt, and drew a knife from his belt. The Paipites mirrored him, steel flashing under the early morning sun.
He lunged first. One Paipite recoiled while the other closed in—both blades slashing in unison.
But Green dropped his knife.
Before they could react, his hand shot out, clamping down on both their wrists. He twisted—redirecting one's momentum—and spun, dragging the second into his motion. In a blur, Green pivoted, ending with his back pressed against the Paipite's chest.
The Paipite tried to swing with its free arm. Green ducked low, caught the wrist, then rammed his head backward. Bone cracked. The Paipite staggered, thin blood dripping from its nose.
Green released and stepped back, breath sharp and steady.
The wounded Paipite retreated, gathering its cloak, and fading into the group of twenty watching shadows. Only one remained.
They locked eyes.
The last Paipite bolted forward, abandoning its knife. Its fists blurred—a furious rhythm. Faster than before. Smarter.
Green countered, his arms snapping up in practiced defense. The Paipite matched every move, every angle, reading him like a reflection.
Usually, skill evened the odds. Paipites were faster, but Green's precision always tipped the scale. Not this time.
This one moved like him. Anticipated him. Outclassed him.
Green struck—a palm to the chest. Blocked. A feint to the shoulder. Blocked. Low sweep. Countered. Every strike—met perfectly.
A flicker of memory crossed his mind; the rhythm of the fight felt familiar.
Then the Paipite's leg whipped upward. A flash of motion. A crack under his jaw. Light exploded. Then, nothing.
That move… wasn't part of any Kaisher technique he knew.