A few months ago. Directly after the Eclipse Tournament ended.
After everything had passed, after Xerxes triumphed over the once 'unbeatable', 'unreachable', 'prodigy', a huge celebration took place in the Heavenly Arena, and secluded from the humming of celebration, something was occurring.
"The old earthen clone trick. A body pulled from the soil we stand on, clay given breath like it has lungs, earth masquerading as man's flesh." The voice was judgmental, analytical, and it drifted through the dark confines of the chamber, where the organiser of the tournament sat.
Daryul.
The Vaisel Mage of the Kingdom of Baratheon.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The applause certainly did not evoke anything 'respectful'. Instead, it seemed to be mocking him. The figure moved further into the room, his steps light, deliberate and unhurried. Daryul's gaze followed him with the patience of a hunter watching prey.
However, even with all the strength he had, he knew well enough it was the other way around.
For all his years spent, three decades of blood and study to obtain the mantle of Vaisel Mage, he never once felt appreciative of that accolade before someone like him.
There was something about the elusive presence that made him uneasy. Although, despite these caveats, Daryul did not hesitate to invite the presence in.
A saying Daryul was once taught was this: 'Those who walked furthest towards their goals were the ones ready to embrace what was twisted and sickening.'
'So that is why an opportunity like this cannot pass.' Daryul thought, the words burning in his skull. 'While he is here, I will make use of him, no matter the stench of his plans.'
The candle's flame flickered as the figure drew closer, the light licking the outlines of his face. Pale skin, that was the colour of moonlight on stone. Subtle black apparel, that did not display any individuality or style, but the most noticeable thing about the appearance was one simple detail.
A lustreless black blindfold.
There was no mistaking his identity once it was seen; it was Orpheus.
A man neither loved nor despised, neither praised nor feared. His strength was a question that was never answered, his weakness being something that was not known. He simply acted on his own interest, and was known around Baratheon as an 'information broker'.
Some people suspected he was from the land of whisperers, Amento; some say he was from Baratheon, but that was not known either. He was simply a man who loved riddles and information.
"To what does a man owe the pleasure?" Orpheus asked, with a silk-smooth tone in his voice, which felt relaxing. "Since it is you here, and not the dust-born doubles you scatter across Baratheon, the information shared today shall stay in confidence?"
Daryul scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned into the chair's back. "Spare the wit. I have done as I promised, Orpheus, more than handsomely. I have no patience for games, especially after all the trouble doing this has set me back."
The candlelight caught the faint glint in Daryul's rosy eyes, reflecting the flame as he fixed on it, perhaps contemplating his decisions. "I have done my part," he continued.
"I am Vaisel Mage of Baratheon, head of the adventuring association of Baratheon and holder of the key to Lumanaria's sanctuary. I have done all I could for you so that you can enforce your 'personal justice'; ensure you maintain your part of the deal."
The corners of Orpheus' mouth twitched upward, a grin that did not quite reach his eyes. The sight of it told Daryul enough. Orpheus' objective flowed with utmost accuracy and smoothness.
Daryul loathed what Orpheus was doing, but loathing meant nothing. 'Man could not always afford their morals. I am sure to know. It is the law of equivalent exchange. One thing for another. I must turn a blind eye and ignore the need for aid, for what I require is for my own benefit... a greater benefit.'
Orpheus then abruptly asked a question to the Vaisel Mage, "Such a sour face. The information written down in the books is that you are jollier than this. So to see you like this...wounds me. If what a man does is bothering you, then speak. I am the most neutral person in this kingdom, Daryul."
Gritting his teeth, Daryul thought on all the bloodshed that would occur if Orpheus' objective went through, and so he spoke, but restrained his words slightly, "To be frank, you make me sick to my stomach. What you do is not normal. The amount of bloodshed is abhorrent."
Orpheus' grin only grew, "Bloodshed? A criticism on that account is illogical from a man such as yourself. Do you not hear it? The applause for bloodshed; a man does find it... strange? Answer me this, why is it when they witness the bloodshed of others in events masked as tournaments, competition, they can laugh."
He chuckled, "Hell, they can even cry tears of joy, but when mankind shares it over war, over greed, they shriek like the animals they are. There is no purpose they seek besides satisfaction, so why am I wrong if what I do is 'the same' per se?"
The reasoning was logical but illogical to Daryul's ears; it seemed so abstractly put. But was what he was saying making sense?
Despite the bloodshed he had grown accustomed to, each time he saw blood at least there was 'hesitation'; there was a 'reaction'. 'There was still humanity and remorse in what I witnessed or what I have done myself.'
He reminisced on his childhood, three decades ago. Such a challenging, cruel and bloody childhood that made him ponder.
There was a pause in the room, as if time had stopped.
Eventually, someone broke the silence and Daryul refused to dive deeper into the confines of a traumatic past he had once had, "Enough of the questions. I have asked for knowledge, and it is in your own curious desires to know it too, so show me."
Daryul slowly nodded, his mind cast back to Baratheon. It was then, by the Forest of Dreams, he and Orpheus had sensed the exact same thing. It felt like a 'ripple' similar to stargates, when they produced a residue of magic after teleportation.
Reports had followed this event, too many to dismiss. Daryul recalled the words clearest from a drunkard's lips:
"Was not like nothin' I had ever seen. Two children, fallin' out the sky right onto m'beer!"
Madness, perhaps. But the tale had been repeated, sober and drunken alike. And the surge of energy that followed was no lie.
Orpheus slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, "Here it is, the file of the two. Xerxes Draedon and the other, Leiya."
Daryul opened the envelope and began to draw multiple papers.
"Ah," he whispered, a chill stirring through him. "At last. Xerxes. The true you. Who are you, and how have you gotten to Tier 4?"
His eyes traced the script. "Orphan. Found amidst the War of Man and Beast...found by a woman, Vanessa Insigni."
The name struck like a spear. Daryul froze, his eyes snapping upward. "Insigni? The Insigni family? Are you certain?"
Orpheus' grin faltered, for once. What came instead was sharper, edged with something Daryul might have called anger. "Yes, Vanessa Insigni, kin of the nobles of Amento. Her brother, Var Insigni, the Ice-Veined himself, stands Vaisel Mage of that land. A sentient hindrance in a man's plans."
Daryul was left reeling in disbelief. He found it difficult to believe that some nameless child could be tied to one of Amento's strongest. Although it seemed that Vanessa and Var had not been in contact for many years, it still did not give a reason for his strength.
Daryul's hand slammed the table. The candle almost leapt away. "It is madness! To vanish for months, to return stronger. A trick? What could it be?"
He leaned forward, his voice practically a growl. "What do you believe, Orpheus? An anomaly of this sort needs some explanation. Surely. Tell me what sense can be made."
Orpheus struck a match, the flare small and brief before it touched his cigarette. Smoke filled the chamber, curling around his pale features. "A man does not pretend to have all the answers."
He paused before continuing, "But there are patterns and explanations. Tristan Godfrey, for one, his rise made sense. A father, Tier One, to train him alongside the talent of his own body. Also, his father's death—grief, rage, the fire that tempers steel—had only accelerated that growth."
He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But Xerxes, Leiya, they are different. You are familiar with core saturation, are you not? The more soul fragments you acquire, the more saturated your soul core becomes, with different beasts and people giving different 'signatures' if you will, to the soul."
Daryul rose half from his chair, the weight of the words pressing on him.
"And their cores are stained with beasts of the Fallen Kingdom. The very same as those army folk we have within the continent."
He knew where this led, and yet he refused to believe it.
"You mean..."
Orpheus' gaze met his, steady and fixed.
Daryul finished the thought, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the past year, they were likely within the Fallen Kingdom, and my conclusion is that Leiya is native to that place."
The memories returned to Daryul. The past week of his observations came into effect. Xerxes' strange mana, the unyielding tenacity in his battles, the way his soul felt...stained. Stained with the beasts that he had consumed, it made sense. Soul fragments were said to have physiological and psychological effects.
Not only that, he was in possession of a weapon he did not even know the capabilities of.
"He also has that ancient mana beast; he is in possession of a phoenix."
Daryul looked up instantly, "What do you intend to do with this information? I know you are not only a thinker; you act. So how will you act?"
Daryul pushed off the wall he was resting on, turning to leave, "What makes you think a man has not already taken action? The son of the woman you despise, Reinhard Furdia, they now work together. Leiya is not an interest; she currently resides in one of Lumanaria's churches; a man does not want to go through the trouble of receiving a punishment from the Lord of Light."
The Vaisel mage grunted. He needed answers, but he couldn't get them from Leiya. She was under the protection of Saint Nikola, and if Daryul was to do anything against her, then he would certainly revoke the light he had given him.
Orpheus then gave Daryul some advice, "If you wish to remain as 'noble', as 'chivalrous' and 'trustworthy', you shouldn't engage with this... Xerxes Draedon further. His strength is surely something to be wary of. He is one of the first subjects a man has seen to grow this strong in such a short time. Not only that, an old friend of his, whom I have seen in the report, is someone far more frightening."
Daryul frowned. There was no one who caught his attention. Yes, he did grow up with two other people, the Insigni, but who else? "What?"
Orpheus replied, "The two he grew up with are both special in their own regard. Do not cross lines with them, or with Xerxes. Unless you are me."
With that, Orpheus left the room. Daryul remained dumbfounded and stared at the scattered files around his desk.