#me when i seat on atlasdam to learn

[legendaryandroid]

Adoration of the Dawn

Aelfric|Aeber ver1|Bifelgan|

Summary: Ophilia invites Cyrus to share in a prayer to Aelfric with her.

    Cyrus sat on a log, his back to the dimming campfire as he kept watch on the dark mountain trail around him so no monsters could surprise him or his companions asleep in their tents. There was the rustle of fabric, and Cyrus glanced over to see Ophilia crawling out of her tent she was sharing with Tressa, wearing a simple shift and carrying a blanket over her shoulder while holding Aelfric’s lanthorn in the other.

    “Good morning Professor,” Ophilia said, hiding a tired yawn behind her hand as she stood up.

    Cyrus blinked in surprise, “Ophilia? What are you doing awake? It’s not even dawn.”

    Ophilia smiled sleepily, “I’m aware. But it is customary to worship Aelfric as dawn comes.”

    “Ah, of course.” When Cyrus had been a student he had had a dorm overlooking one of the churches of Atlasdam and had seen clerics gather outside to pray to Aelfric at dawn when he had particularly long nights, or sometimes especially early mornings. “Do you mind if I watch?”

    “Not at all,” Ophilia said, “You could even join me if you wish.”

    Cyrus smiled self-deprecatingly, “I am honored, but I am perhaps not as devout a companion as one would wish when praying.”

    Ophilia shook her head gently, “You are plenty devout Professor, though it shows in your studies rather than with the sacred flame. I ask because I know of your curiosity and desire to learn many things, and I find doing something makes it much easier to understand than to merely watch. But do what you feel is comfortable.”

    Cyrus nodded, “Then perhaps I will join you.”

    “Excellent,” Ophilia said, face brightening, “Give me a moment and we’ll begin.” She then spread out her blanket on a section of flat ground, clearing out some of the rocks and twigs beneath it, then set Aelfric’s lanthorn on the east side of the blanket. After that she settled upon it, kneeling, she patted the open space beside her.

    Cyrus got up from his seat and joined Ophilia, taking off his shoes to keep the blanket clean and imitating her kneeling pose.

    “Has anyone ever explained the Adoration of the Dawn prayer to you?” Ophilia asked.

    Cyrus shook his head, “I’ve seen it done, but I don’t believe I have ever had it explained to me.”

    “It’s fairly straightforward,” Ophilia said, “We start prostrating, as low as one can go, then with several movements throughout the prayer we’ll end up standing. We are rising with the dawn so to speak, and rising above our darkest hours to find new light and guidance in the holy flame of Aelfric, represented by the sun.”

    “That does seem simple enough,” Cyrus agreed, “With easy to follow logic.”

    Ophilia looked at her hands in her lap, “My fa- the Archbishop said that the Church of the Sacred Flame likes to keep a lot of its rituals simple, so even the common folk could find time and meaning in them without devoting their lives to the cloth.” Ophilia then glanced at the horizon and the brightening sky, “Dawn comes, let us start and I’ll answer any questions after. Just follow my moments as best you can, and don’t worry about the words alright?”

    “I will do so.”

    Ophilia nodded, and laid flat with her face down on the blanket, arms at her sides and Cyrus copied her. She then began to sing-chant in ancient Hornburgian, Cyrus caught most of it and came to the conclusion that the prayer was saying in words what Ophilia said the actions were supposed to represent. He found her pronunciation slightly odd, though whether that was a flaw in Ophilia’s speech or an artifact from the way the church taught the prayer Cyrus couldn’t determine. 

    After sing-chanting a few lines of prayer, Ophilia went quiet and Cyrus heard her take in a slow deliberate breath, then release it just as purposefully. When she repeated it again, Cyrus did it with her, letting the cool air of the night fill his lungs and then releasing it in a soft warm breath. Ophilia breathed a third time and Cyrus did too, feeling the deep breath center and calm his mind. Ophilia then shifted, pulling her legs up so they were underneath her in a kneeling position, then sing-chanted and breathed deep three times once again. The pattern repeated as Ophilia lifted her body upright, then as she went up onto her knees, then brought a knee up, then finally stood, Cyrus following with her.

    Once Ophilia was standing, she clasped her hands in front of her chest with closed eyes, whispered a prayer, then opened them, flinging her hands up with her palms to the sky. And the moment she did, Cyrus saw the sun crest the horizon, shedding it’s light across the craggy landscape.

    Cyrus stared in awe as the warmth of the sun reached him, feeling like it reached through his body to comfort his very soul.

Ophilia let out a giddy giggle, “It always feels a lot more stunning when you can time it so perfectly. I’ve only experienced it a few times.”

    Cyrus' stare was still caught on the sun as it continued to rise, burning off the soft blues and pinks of pre-dawn light into the bright blue of another day. “I know what you mean.”

    After several moments, Ophilia settled back down on the blanket and Cyrus followed, both of them sitting more casually than before as they continued to watch the sun rise, Aelfric’s Lanthorn glowing a soft blue in front of them.

    “You know,” Ophilia said after a little while, “They say that the red of the sky at dawn and dusk is the very same sacred flame spreading across the sky that Aelfric brought down from heaven when he trapped a great evil.”

    “.... Do they?” Cyrus asked. He debated explaining how the red color came from the way particles scattered light, but then remembered that he had explained it to Ophilia once not that long ago and decided to keep quiet and let her speak.

    “Yes, it’s part of why dawn and, to a lesser extent, dusk are so important to the church of the Sacred Flame. Though, to be honest, living in Flamesgrace Cathedral, I always wondered if part of the hullabaloo about the dawn is the return of the sun’s warmth on those long cold winter nights,” Ophilia said with a half smile.

    All of a sudden Ophilia let out a huge yawn, which she barely covered with a hand. “My, excuse me, but I think I’ll retire once again until it’s time for the others to wake. Thank you for keeping me company Professor.”

    “It should be I that is thanking you,” Cyrus said, removing himself from Ophilia’s blanket so she could pick it up again, “for letting me join you.”

    Ophilia smiled as she gathered her things, “You are welcome Professor, will you be retiring as well?”

    Cyrus shook his head, “I am still on watch, and while our chances of being ambushed by monsters now that it’s light out is low, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

    “Very well,” Ophilia nodded, “Then goodnight- er, good morning to you.”

    Cyrus smiled, “And good morning to you as well.”

    Once Ophilia returned to her tent, Cyrus returned to keeping a lookout, Ophilia’s prayer running though his mind. He found it to be quite affable, a pleasant way to remind those that practiced it that bad times would not last forever, and that eventually good would come. Mayhaps it would not be a bad lesson for him to keep in mind.

[justice-duwang]

Eightfold Way

“Hey, Therion,” Alfyn said suddenly.  “For some reason, I don’t think I like Cyrus.”

Therion nodded.  “Me neither.”

The offending scholar was currently surrounded, speaking to several local women about the town’s history. They hung onto his every word, captivated by the teacher’s charisma.

Naturally, Cyrus was completely oblivious to it all.

“That was a surprise,” he said after the ladies left, giggling to themselves.  “I had no idea this town was so appreciative of its culture! I’m quite impressed!”

“ . . . Yeah,” Alfyn nodded. “I don’t like Cyrus.”

The thief grunted in agreement.  While he had his fair share of disagreements with the apothecary, there were things both good agree on, such as the fact that apples were better skinless, Ophelia looked better with her hair down, and Cyrus definitely did not deserve the attention he got.

“You two . . . .” Olberic sighed.  They turned to see the warrior shaking a disapproving head in their direction, accompanied by one amused Primrose.  

“I don’t know, Olberic,” the dancer said.  “I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Shut up!” Alfyn and Therion said in tandem.

The party of four had met the others in a tavern in Rippletide.  Primrose and Olberic had been traveling together ever since she had left the desert, while Cyrus had ventured out from Atlasdam on his lonesome. At first, the three separate groups paid the other little mind—it was only a commotion in the town square, thanks to a pack of pillaging pirates, that had drawn them together.  They even gained a new member from that incident—a young merchant girl, eager to reclaim the valuables they had stolen.  She was all ready to charge off on her lonesome with her cask of drugged wine, but Alfyn, Primrose, and Cyrus weren’t having it, running off after her without a second glance.  Olberic and H’aanit eventually followed after making sure their more hotheaded companions didn’t get themselves hurt recklessly.  Ophelia tended to the townsfolk injured in the scuffle.

Therion, as he saw his teammates (by force) dash off without him, shrugged and sat back, flagging down a waiter for another tankard.

By the time the six returned, Therion was two drinks fuller, several hundred leaves richer, and the recipient of a particularly long lecture by Ophelia concerning the sins of theft which he mostly tuned out.  Upon their re-arrival to the tavern he quietly slipped away upon the priestess’ momentary distraction, smirking smugly to himself as he walked away, her indignant protests fading into the background.

Unfortunately for him, the next day he woke up to discover that the three groups had since joined forces, with an additional member consisting of the merchant girl from the previous day.  

“My name’s Tressa!” she said, sticking out her hand for Therion to take.  “I’ve already met the rest of your group!  I hope we can get along!”

“ . . . Therion,” he said, ignoring her outstretched arm.  

That didn’t seem to put a damper upon Tressa’s spirits.  “So, what do you do?  Your pal Alfyn says that everyone here is some kind of adventurer, right?  So you gotta be one too!”

“I’m . . . just an adventurer,” he said cautiously.  “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Aw, come on!” she whined. “Tell me!”

“No.”

“Come on!”

“No!”

“Please?”

Therion glared at her. “No means no.  There’s nothing more to it.”

“He’s embarrassed because he’s a thief,” Primrose said smugly from behind her fan.

Therion already didn’t like the dancer.  He liked her less now.

Tressa immediately backed away from him, glaring daggers in his direction.  Therion gathered that she hated thieves.  Internally, he shrugged.  Thieves and merchants were natural enemies, after all.  Not much he could do about that.  So, he ignored her, and sent his own glare in Primrose’s direction, whose smug aura seemed to brighten the more he glared.  Out of the corner of his eyes he caught Alfyn trying to mask a snicker with a disapproving expression and failing.  He sighed, already wishing he had never got out of bed that morning.

Tressa continued to be wary of him for the next day, and the next day, and the next, all the way until they reached the town they currently resided in.  It had gotten to be quite annoying, really, as every time he ended up close by her in battle she scurried away, oftentimes placing herself—or him—in danger.  Olberic lectured her about that, and, while she stopped endangering the party with her actions, she was still on-edge around the thief.  

Therion didn’t really care what she thought of him.  He did, however, care about how Primrose knew he was a thief.  He was able to deceive the other three—so what was with her?

He asked her as such, and his suspicions were confirmed when she pointed out the band on his wrist. “Your reputation proceeds you,” she had said, “but you must not be that good if you got caught.”

Therion found himself beginning to hate Primrose.  

Still, she wasn’t the worst of his new unwanted companions.  Aside from the aforementioned thief-hating Tressa, there was the ever-stern Olberic, who watched his every move with hawklike eyes. The knight generally stayed out of his way, but he could tell that the big man was less-than-fond of him.

Then there was Cyrus, the current cause of Therion’s frustration.

“My dear boy!” Cyrus said, clapping Therion on the shoulder.  The shorter man sighed wearily.  “Might I see that bangle upon your arm?  I’ve heard tell of its significance, but I simply must see it for myself!”

How did he even know?!  Therion cried internally.  Externally he jerked his arm away.  “No thanks,” he said curtly.  “Did Primrose set you up to this?”

“Hm?  Ah, no.  I simply happened to notice the bangle during our last fight,” Cyrus explained.  “I thought this would be a rare chance to study such a thing!”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Therion replied.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have places to be.”

He caught Alfyn’s eye as he made his escape from the overbearing scholar.  Alfyn gave him a sympathetic nod, and Therion felt himself nodding in return.  Really, his old group wasn’t so bad in comparison to the new people he had to put up with.

---

Tressa sighed as she closed the inn door, shrugging her pack off of her shoulders as she collapsed into a chair.  Today had been particularly bad for her in terms of business—not only had she barely sold a thing, but it had been terribly hot.  Also, a dog had run off with her lunch.  All in all, it wasn’t a good day.

She waved down a waiter and got something to drink.  She was halfway through it when Ophelia approached.

“Hey, Tressa,” the priestess greeted kindly.  “Do you mind if I take a seat?”

“No problem,” Tressa scooted over slightly as Ophelia took a seat beside her.  “What brings you here?”

“Just wanted to see how you were holding up,” Ophelia replied.  “It was a hot one today, after all.”

“Tell me about it,” Tressa grumbled.  “Not only that, but I couldn’t sell anything!  And a dog stole my lunch.”

“Oh no!”

“Don’t worry, Alfyn came by with something to share,” Tressa reassured her.  “He’s a really reliable guy.”

“Indeed he is,” Ophelia agreed.  “He’s always taking care of us.”

Tressa sighed.  “As opposed to that thief.”

“Tressa,” Ophelia scolded lightly.  “Therion is a fine man once you get to know him.”

“But he’s a thief, Ophelia!” Tressa repeated.  “The natural enemy of us merchants!  We can’t get along!  We’re like dogs and cats, oil and water, Cyrus and recognizing that he’s ridiculously good-looking!”

Ophelia blinked. “Wait, repeat that last one.”

“My point is,” Tressa enunciated, with just the barest hint of a blush upon her cheeks, “that you can’t trust a thief.  I’ve seen my fair share of pickpockets in my time, so let me give you some professional advice.”

“Well, Mr. Therion has been perfectly good to us so far,” Ophelia stated firmly.  “I won’t have you slandering him behind his back.”

“But he’s a thief!”

Ophelia sighed.  It looked like getting the party to cooperate was going to take a while.

---

The party of eight were on their way the next day.  Their destination was Quarrycrest—Cyrus had some business there, and they meant to stop at Saintsbridge on the way there.  They were a mere two days away from Saintsbridge when they found themselves ambushed.

They were surrounded by a number of rather large, monstrous frogs, lead, it seemed, by a small, bipedal cat carrying a sack.  They were more than a score in number, and steadily advanced upon the party’s position.

Cyrus and Ophelia immediately began to conjure their respective magic while the rest of the party formed a circle around them.  Olberic—legendary knight that he was—charged ahead with a mighty shout, his massive sword sweeping aside the Froggens’ own blades.  H’aanit dove into the fray alongside Linde, covering her companion’s attacks with a hail of arrows.  Primrose hung back to protect the casters, slinging her own spells at the creatures. Alphyn, having partially frozen a frog halfway solid, leaped off of the incapacitated monster and cleaved another’s arm right from its body.  Therion disappeared, reappearing to slit an amphibious throat before vanishing amongst the chaos again.  Tressa, for her part, hung back near the casters and jabbed at any incoming frogs with her spear.  She’s not as used to battle as the others are, but she’s learned a little from traveling with them, and she begins to grow confident that things are looking up.

That’s when, of course, things went wrong.  

All of a sudde, a harsh buzzing filled the air.  Tressa glanced wildly about, startled by the noise.  Alfyn pointed and shouted from atop his icy perch, and then Tressa saw it: a swarm of massive, yellow wasps.  Stingers bared, they divebomb the party.  Tressa tried to whirl about to face them but realizes with a frightened jolt that her spear was still lodged in a froggen.  She tugged and tugged but is unable to yank her weapon free.  The wasps get dangerously close.  She braced herself.

The pain never came. Instead, she heard a sickening thud, and she opened her eyes to see Therion standing over her with stinger in his shoulder as he drove his knife into the wasp’s brain.  It fell to the ground, dead, gravity causing it to rip its barbs from the thief’s shoulder with a splatter of blood and a gasp of pain. Therion grunts as he collapsed to the ground.  Tressa gasped and scrambled over to him, forgetting her spear in her panic.  

“T-Therion!” she stammered.

“Leave it,” he hissed through his teeth.  “Don’t get distracted!”

Shakily she unlimbered her bow, remembering at the last second she packed another weapon with her. She fired at a wasp, but it went wide, and only served to aggravate the insect.  Panicking, she thrust out her hands and summoned a razor-sharp blade of wind and flung it at her advancing opponent.  It sheared off a wing, sending it tumbling to the ground, where Therion finished off with a thrown knife.  

“Therion!” Tressa knelt by his side, helping him up.  “A-are you okay!?”

“Just fine,” he grit.

They fell back to Ophelia, where Therion collapsed by the priestess.  She immediately knelt and began administering aid, coating the wound in the holy light of the Sacred Flame.  Tressa nocked another arrow and managed to hit a froggen in the shoulder this time.

Things were turning out for the worse, however.  The party had been driven back to a tight circle, the frontline fighters surrounding the mages and the injured.  Their foes advanced, encircling them.

Tressa noticed that most of the rest of the party were sustaining injuries of their own—Linde’s coat was matted with blood, H’aanit’s arm dangled by her side, Alfyn had blood running down his face, and Olberic—well, Olberic was positively coated with wounds.  His overcoat was ruined, blood was splattered all over him, and he even had a knife sticking out of his back.  Tressa gulped.  

“Thank you, everyone!” Cyrus announced suddenly.  They looked at him, surprised to see him positively glowing with magical energy.  “Brace yourselves!”  He swirled his hands bout in the air before pointing towards the sky.  “By the power of thunder, make yourself known!  Come, tempest!  Nothing will quiet the storm!”

The air explodes.  Tressa screamed in a rather dignified fashion as a massive lightning bolt tore through sky to slam in all of its electric glory into the small army gathered before them.  Thus, as soon as it had started, it was over—the travelers stood above the remains of their ambushers, startled by the suddenness of their victory.

“Ah, that one’s getting away!” Alfyn shouted.  Olberic hurled his spear like a javelin, nailing the fleeing cait sith in the back. Tressa still had her hands clapped to her ears, waiting for the world to stop ringing.

Ophelia and Alfyn patched the group up, and the were once more on their way—after looting the monster corpses for anything salvageable.  As they walked, Tressa fell silent, reviewing the just-transpired events in her head.  Eventually, she shook her head, adopted a determined expression, and marched up to Therion.  

The thief noticed her presence.  “What do you want?” he asked testily.

Tressa met his gaze with her own.  “Mr. Therion, I misjudged you.  You’re not just a common thief after all.”

Therion’s eyes widened. Clearly, he had not been expecting that. “Er, thanks?  What are—”

“You may be a dirty sneak thief, but you’re a good guy,” Tressa admitted.  “So I apologize.  I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Therion interjected, unsure whether to be insulted or complimented.  Before he could get another word in, Tressa dashed away, her massive pack clanking.

Ophelia sighed.  It’d take some work, but it was a start, at least.

---

“So Cyrus,” Alfyn began casually.

“What is it, my dear boy?”

“Next time could you warn us before dropping a massive frickin’ lightning bolt from the sky?”

“ . . . I can see how that can be unnerving, yes.  I’ll be sure to warn you all adequately next time.”

“Please do,” Primrose complained.  “I still can’t hear out of my right ear.”

“Er, sorry.”

[octopath-archivist]

Cyrus chapter one; Ophilia

The journey so far was quite treacherous, so Ophilia was relieved at the sight of a city brung up the cleric’s spirits. Entering the city, she recognized it as Atlasdam, the seat of learning in Orsterra. Ophilia thought for a moment, and thought to herself, “while I’m here, I might as well do some research on the pilgrimage.” Since she got an abridged version while she was in Flamesgrace. Ophilia made her way down to the library at the famous academy. She entered the library, and asked the librarian timidly, “are there any books on the pilgrimage of the great flame?” The librarian responded, “of course! Let me just check in that section for it”. Ophilia followed her over to the religion section, and stopped when she caught sight of a familiar book. ‘Stories of the thirteen’. She then remembered a memory long forgotten...

*flashback*

“Tell me another story momma!” Ophilia squealed with delight. Her mother looked at her with a playful look in her eyes, and said, “alright, but just one more, okay? Then it’s bedtime for you!” Ophilia giggled, and her mother asked with enthusiasm in each word, “so which story would you like to read this time? Maybe Aeber and the traveling circus? Or even Bifelgan’s locket again? Its been a while since we’ve read that one” Ophilia asked happily, “can we read the one with Alfreic and Drafendi?” Her mother replied jokingly, “that one? Oh, but we’ve read that three times this week!” Ophilia giggled at her mother’s silliness and went on, “that one, that one!” Her mother sighed over-dramatically, and replied, “ok” She flipped to the page, and started, “‘Alfreic was out on one of his many travels across Orsterra when he-“ “she” interjected Ophilia. Her mother chuckled, and went on, “she, came to an unfamiliar neck of the woods…”

Ophilia felt a tear stream down her face remembering it. The librarian came back to her and she promptly wiped the tear away. The librarian apologized, “I’m sorry. The book seems to have gone missing. The third one this month...” Ophilia perked up and asked, “I’m sorry, what?” The librarian looked at her for a moment, and responded, “well, other books have gotten missing as well. They seem to have a pattern of having to do with some ancient history of sorts”. Then another man came up to the two of them. He was dressed in lavish clothing, with a black cloak covering his back, and a jet black ponytail going below his shoulders. He had a pale complexion, and was asking questions of the librarian a mile a minute. The librarian told him, “now slow down there”. She thought for a moment, and said, “hey, I think I found you a good comrade for your search”. She nudged Ophilia towards the scholarly man. “Are you looking for a lost book as well?”, the man asked. Ophilia replied, “well, yes. Yes I am”. The man responded, “perfect “, and extended his arm, adding, “my name is Cyrus Albright. And what would be your name fair maiden?” Ophilia looked flustered for a moment, then regained herself and shook his hand, introducing, “my name is Ophilia Clement. I think we might enjoy working together”. The two headed out, and Ophilia asked, “so, what are you looking for the book for?” Cyrus clapped his hands together, remarked, “you really are a curious one, aren’t you? Well, it all started back during my last lecture...”

Now that Ophilia was all caught up, she spoke, “so that’s how you became tangled up in this. And I suppose if either of us want to achieve our goals, we should work together”. Cyrus beamed and said to her, “jolly good plan! And, I know just the place to find the cause of all of this!” Ophilia beamed in hopefulness, and remarked to the scholar, “well then, lead the way!”…

They found themselves in Russell’s secret hideout, and Cyrus whispered to Ophilia, “stay down. I’ll try talking to him”. He walked up to Russel…

“If it were not for your bloody meddling, I could’ve had it all!” Russell shouted at the scholar. He rushed at him, but Ophilia ran out of the shadows just as he did, parrying his blow with her staff. Ophilia stated, “you will not escape justice evildoer!” Russell chuckled, and said to Cyrus, “so, you’ve hired a nun to do the dirty work, eh? Typical Cyrus, not wanting his hands dirty!” Cyrus quickly responded, “we’re partners, not worker and master!”, and proceeded into battle…

The two of them headed back to the library, books in hand and information needing to be told. They headed over to the librarian, and returned the books immediately. Then, as soon as they were celebrating their victory, another woman walked up to the two of them, saying, “Cyrus, the headmaster wishes to speak with you”. Cyrus and Ophilia began walking, but the woman stopped Ophilia, stating, “the headmaster wishes to see Cyrus, and Cyrus alone”. Ophelia faltered, but Cyrus put a hand on her shoulder, saying, “don’t worry. I’ve dealt with his rants before. This time shouldn’t be any different”. And so Cyrus followed the woman away…

Cyrus returned five minutes later, with a look on his face Ophilia couldn’t quite describe. Cyrus explained, “I’m taking a temporary leave to do some field work. Tell me Therese”, gesturing toward the librarian, “are there any other missing books that ruffian stole?” Therese thought for a moment, and said, “well, there was one book that went missing about fifteen years ago. If I recall, I believe it was called ‘from the far reaches of Hell’”. Cyrus exclaimed, “excellent!”, and turned toward Ophilia requesting, “tell me dear lady, would you willingly accompany me on my journey for this lost tome?” Ophelia thought for a moment, and a smile played on her lips, responding, “I would love to travel with you!” Cyrus did a silent victory cheer in his head, as the two of them left the library. As they were leaving the library however, a voice called from the shadows, “professor?”…

The two of them headed off into the wilds of the flatlands, and Ophilia asked, “Do you know?” Cyrus cocked his head and asked inquisitively, “notice what, Ophilia?” Ophelia realized he was oblivious to the feelings of his student, but she figured he would figure out on his own soon enough, so she told him, “nothing. You’ll know soon enough”. Cyrus smiled, and looked ahead to the road to the south, as he asked, “so, what set you on the traveler’s path?” Ophelia hesitated, before answering, “it’t a long story…”

[theriustraveler]

Therius - Meeting

Little writing about my take on how Therion and Cyrus would meet. I apologize if it’s OOC, I definitely need to study their in-game dialogue more. Hope it’s an enjoyable read nonetheless!

Click. Click. Click.

The fool’s bangle upon his right wrist sings a near constant song of shame with its single chain. It’s dull iron marks its owner as a convict. Undeniable proof of a thief’s humiliating blunder.

Therion shakes the words out of his head while rubbing at his wrist. He had wrapped it in bandages earlier due to the bangle already scraping against his skin. The bandages are lightly stained with the red of blood, only noticeable when he moves. There was no one to see it, however, out here in the east Atlasdam Flats. The thief needed to restock and rest before continuing his journey to Noblecourt and Atlasdam was a decent city. If the scholars are going to be overly obnoxious and much too eager to express their knowledge, Therion may just need a drink as well.

The rogue continues down the path, catching sight of the nearby sea and a stone bridge leading into the city. He crouches low as he walks, rubbing away the monster blood on his dagger and broadsword on the grass. Therion reaches the bridge and flips his weapons back into their sheathes. Quick and masterful hands pat himself down. Clothes seemed to be in their usual places. He runs a hand through his soft pale hair and ruffle it even more. His roguish look is complete- not that he particularly cared much for looks as he did for his reputation. The click of the bangle’s chain reminds him too often.

He walks into the busy, stone-built city. It appears considerably better compared to the other places he has thus visited. Afterall, Atlasdam is the largest city in all of the Flatlands and is a place of learning. Countless scholars and nobles have come here, especially for the Royal Academy and the Royal Library. The library is said to have many ancient and historical books. Therion smiles to himself at the thought of stealing in this city. Pickpocketing nobles is effortless but stealing a book from the Royal Library may prove a challenge with its security. The rogue reminds himself he wasn’t here to steal, however he also has time to burn and the amount of gold in his pockets doesn’t feel quite satisfactory. Lady Cordelia Ravus hadn’t given him a time limit to steal back her family’s dragonstones. He sets that task aside and continues to wander through the city. After walking along a lengthy pathway, Therion nears the palace gate.  He had passed a pair of guards conversing and learned that the library is to his left. Therion enters the building and gazes at the myriads of books around him, some in average book shelves and others in shelves that reach up to the second floor. Many scholars are present, all too busy reading to have noticed nor care for the new arrival. Only one woman, the librarian behind the desk, seemed to had noticed him. Therion takes notice to the door behind her. Special archives, he guesses.

Unbeknownst to the thief, there’s another set of eyes on him. A certain pair of pale, intelligent blue eyes that are appalled by the thief’s rugged clothing. The black caped man had seen a flash of purple above the ancient pages of his book and finds himself both intrigued and disgusted. This new arrival clearly does not wear the clothes or symbols of a noble. The dagger and sword at his hips hint more at a warrior than a scholar. The irises of his eyes shift from sapphire blue to emerald green in the changing light as he looks around. The scholar observing him from a corner, Cyrus Albright, smirks with pride. It was common for newcomers to be amazed at their large collection of books. Cyrus looks back down at his book. Strangely, he’s only able to read fifteen sentences before his focus breaks. The young man had been etched into his mind after literal seconds of observing him. He glances up from the pages once more and-

A thief?!

If Cyrus wasn’t so self-confident about his intelligence, he would have doubted what he had seen. But like usual, he knows what he saw. The blonde started walking towards the entrance and his light purple poncho betrayed him for two seconds, revealing a royal book as the clothing flew up. Cyrus immediately recognized the cover of the book and remembers reading it from the special archives behind Mercedes, the librarian. He looks to his right and sees the door leading into the archives is closed. Mercedes is standing there as if nothing had happened either. Cyrus frowns and shuts his book, sliding it back into place on the shelf. He rises from his wooden chair and adjusts his cloak, then walks over to Mercedes. He questions if someone in purple had slipped past her and she says no. Intrigued once more, Cyrus exits the building and goes to the nearest guard, just feet away. He finds out that a man in purple had headed downtown. After several questions later, the scholar finds his target at the tavern. A man in purple was easy to discern from the crowd and Cyrus finds him at the bar by his lonesome. There’s already four empty shot glasses by him and he lifts his head to down another one. Cyrus, quite uncomfortable in this environment, quickly walks across the room and takes the seat next to the blonde. He doesn’t notice him and keeps his gaze forward. Cyrus searches with his eyes for the location of the book on his body but doesn’t see any particular object shaped like a book underneath his poncho.

The barkeeper walks over to them and asks what Cyrus wants. He simply asks for an iced water and sees the blonde turn to him, confused. Cyrus turns to meet his gaze when the barkeeper walks away. Therion’s expression goes blank and he simply blinks, then turns back to his empty glasses. If he had recognized Cyrus, he certainly didn’t show a sign that he did.

“Dear friend,” Cyrus says, staring at the wall before him, “I believe you have a book that needs to be returned. I’m already tasked with having to find and return a different stolen book.”

“Why not get that one then?” Therion replies, looking down at the shot glass in his hand. The other absentmindedly taps on it.

“So you don’t deny stealing it,” Cyrus points out. Therion doesn’t reply until the barkeeper serves the scholar his water and walks away.

“I’m simply borrowing it,” Therion says. A tone of lightness and sarcasm suggests he isn’t completely serious about the matter. The fact that this thief had managed to slip into the archives… Cyrus must be cautious. Despite how horrendous his fashion sense is, he certainly has the skills of a masterful thief. The two weapons at his side suggest experience in battle as well; any normal thief would have one small, singular weapon like a dagger.

“Are you ‘borrowing’ it to sell it off?”

“Maybe. You were staring at me earlier in the library, do I seem like the type to come here for reading?” Therion puts down his glass and turns his youthful face to Cyrus, eyebrows raised in boredom and in question.

“You seem the mysterious type,” Cyrus says, raising his hand to his chin in an inquisitive manner. “And mysteries exist only to be solved. I believe you are a better thief than it seems and you had stolen the book to get my attention. Why?”

Therion hums his approval. “I heard on the street that a professor has to leave Atlasdam because of… complications, with a princess. You’re that professor, aren’t you?”

Cyrus frowns, considering where the thief was going with this conversation. He nods, nonetheless, saying, “Yes, that is me. Cyrus Albright. And I am going to go on a journey to recover a stolen royal tome. My ‘exile’ happened to be perfectly timed and allowed me to leave Atlasdam with a reason.”

“Then maybe you’d like to come with me,” Therion says. “I’m on my own mission to steal back stolen… items.”

Truly a mysterious one, Cyrus thinks. “I assume I’m not allowed to know what items you mean, but I do think I need to know your name. More importantly, why ask me of all people to accompany you?”

“I’m Therion,” the thief says with a slight incline of his head. “And let’s just say… I’m looking for a partner in crime. I have a good feeling about you. You seem sincere.”

“You want me to become a thief?!” Cyrus asks, shocked and eyes widening. Therion brings a finger to his lips and shushes him.

“Yes, absolutely,” Therion sarcastically says. He takes a deep breath and lowers his hand from his face. “Listen, I have a lead in Noblecourt for what I’m tracking down. A scholar like you could help me out there. You seem to have a knack for scrutinizing too. You help me, I’ll help you.”

Cyrus turns away and considers Therion’s words. Having a master thief with him could help him track down his own thief. He imagines that the young man wouldn’t fit in at Noblecourt, just like here in Atlasdam. His offer to help sounds genuine and rare as well. The scholar nods and turns back to Therion.

“You are a mystery still waiting to be solved,” Cyrus says. “I shall accompany you, Therion. Let us become partners, if not in crime.”

Therion smirks. “Then you’d best get used to my crime, Cyrus.”