《Eccentric Adoration》


 Ch 1: Assassination

    In his last moments, Auron noticed the archer among the dormers of a nearby rooftop, and his normally calm, lilting cadence stuttered to a halt. The thoughts of his prepared speech faded away quickly, as his eyes flicked from his assassin¡¯s form to the motion of the nocked arrow being set loose.


    The arrow made an exhalation of sound as it left the bowstring ¨C its flight was the hushed scratch of a fingernail on a table, a quick, sharp wisp of air that flew over the assembled crowd watching the speech.


    The people waited expectantly for Auron to continue, momentarily perplexed and assuming the otherwise put-together Deity was gathering his thoughts.


    This silent anticipation was interrupted by the wet thump of the arrow into his sternum, silken haori and elegant clothing providing no resistance to the metal broadhead. The force of the blow cracked several ribs and the cutting edge of the arrow sliced through his heart and lung, toppling Auron backward behind the lectern.


    As the Deity of Light was felled, the crowd mirrored Auron¡¯s silent acceptance of his death. Frozen, suspended indefinitely in the prior moments of calm. Was it a conscious decision, or did Auron simply radiate tranquility with his presence?


    Whether or not the crowd was shocked or unable to process what was happening, it was clear no voices rose while Auron¡¯s body settled on the stone dais, the unnatural angle of his limbs hidden by clothing. Fabrics of blue ocean and pale sky pooled around the dying being; the white silk at his chest seeped a telling red from the shaft of the arrow.


    Death was never painless. That was a kind lie the living told each other to make the inevitability seem less threatening. It was always painful. You could only hope for something quick and immediately fatal, not long-suffering.


    Auron received that blessing of a quick death. He closed his eyes and his mind wandered away from the sharpness of his breath to thoughts of his divine partner ¨C light needs dark, light alwaysneedsdark. The dying entity was reassured by the idea that the Dark deity was somewherebeyondhis current perception, seeing to it that Auron passed as easily as possible.


    He could almost feel the Dark¡¯s presence near him, that wavering, warm aura. A phantom hand at his cheek, comforting him, murmuring that this would pass soon. Perhaps, in the In-Between that awaited Auron, the Deity of Light would be able to reunite with his partner once more.


    This was his final thought in his human form; his last ragged breath was exhaled out in a sigh as the pain slipped away into a numb nothingness.


    Neither the Seats of Power nor the crowd moved until shouting from the city guards broke the stillness, as they chased the archer across rooftops, marking his motions from the streets below. The loud struggle was the moment in which vulgar reality returned and the terror of what happened struck the onlookers.


    That was Auron, on the ground. An arrow from an assassin struck Auron. He was bleeding out, dying, dead.


    Someone killed the Deity of Light.


    The silence died too, as if the air had rushed back into lungs of all who were present, as if that moment of the deity¡¯s passing had been marked on their internal clock. Some screamed and shouted, though there were shocked conversations filtering up from the crowd to the Seats of Power who stood still on the stage. The panicking people were watching them now, waiting for answers, directions, for one of them to at least act.


    Gwenllian was the first to move. The Seat of Water. She was the calm within the storm. Her soft, flat-heeled shoes tapped frantically as she crossed the dais and knelt at the side of her god. She hesitated only a moment, but that was a sign of her bravery and resolve.


    The Deity of Light had been alive in this same form for centuries, and there were no records of any deaths or assassinations happening within the last¡­ five-hundred years, possibly more. Gwenllian pressed her fingertips against the neck of her god, unsure which outcome she prayed for most, or who she was even praying to in this moment.


    If he yet lived, he was suffering with that arrow embedded in him. If Auron was dead, then what did that mean for the Guild? For the world?


    Gwenllian knew before she touched the still-warm neck of the entity that Auron was dead. His chest was still, no breath left in him, and his face was unnaturally relaxed. Peaceful, like sleeping. That¡¯s what people said, right? Gwenllian felt unsettled in a way she¡¯d never experienced before. She was a healer, in charge of mundane and magical healing at the Guild. Death was known to her, regrettably. She could not save everyone, even if she wished to.


    But Auron¡¯s death was¡­ cold. Cold like ice drawing the last bit of warmth from her veins. Cold, as in an absence of feeling. In death, the Light Deity no longer emitted his aura of hope and wonder, bright things that illuminated this world. Gwenllian, and the other Seats, and the crowd¡­ they could all feel this void, this absence of Light.


    She stood slowly, intentionally regulating her emotions with steady, calm breaths. Gwenllian could express sadness at the passing of her god later, when there weren¡¯t hundreds of eyes watching her every motion, waiting for answers. Straightening her saree, she turned to face the Seats of Power ¨C her best friends and companions, the council of the Guild ¨C who surely knew better than she did and could tell her what to do next. Someone had to know what to do next.


    Gwenllian shook her head gently, trying not to alert the crowd behind her. The gesture was vague but understood; Auron¡¯s death was confirmed.


    The onlookers to this tragedy were transfixed by the corpse of the god before them. The roiling clouds in the sky above the dais went nearly unnoticed, until an alarming rumble of thunder shook the earth. The sky was unnatural.


    Prior to thisincident, the day had been bright, if occasionally overcast. Now a host of clouds loomed directly above Auron¡¯s body, dark and wicked, lightning sparking along the shapes that churned like a tempestuous sea. It went beyond magical into arcane, the difference being a stark fear of the unknown, of the unexpected veering suddenly into chaotic.


    Gwenllian flinched and her resolve cracked as she looked upwards at the impending catastrophe. That¡¯s all it could be, in this moment. Her face bore a mix of fear and awe at the churning darkness above her. She didn¡¯t know what to do. How could she know what was expected of her? Looking down, she caught the eye of Elias, the Seat of Lightning. This was his element. He would know what to do. Yet, the youthful man¡¯s face was as terrified as hers surely looked.


    They stared at each other for an uncomfortable eternity until Gwenllian shivered. It felt like her body was shaking, vibrating, but it was the magical energy nearby permeating her nervous system. That was Gwenllian¡¯s informed assumption. She knew stray magic could cause involuntary reactions from the body. Shivering was merely one.


    She turned her head from side to side, trying to track the nearby source of this magical swell, as if her mind wouldn¡¯t let her turn to the obvious answer, to the storm above. Someone must be responsible. Again, she looked to the Seats for answers.


    Cas was distraught and refused to look towards Auron¡¯s body, standing with xir arms crossed and a touch of blood at xir pale lips from biting the skin in nervousness. The scholar hated conflict, hated the sight of blood more than anything. It was all xie could to do stay on the dais and be present, as one of the Seats.


    Kian was able to watch the proceedings, but she was only pretending not to be unnerved. Her eyes flicked between the guards apprehending the assassin and Gwenllian.


    Kian was falling back on her duties, the processes she understood, could do without thought. Defenses, guard-work. If she put herself in charge of ensuring the guards caught the assassin, then she could assume someone else had taken up the task of dealing with the death itself.


    It looked like Neous too had a vested interest in the capture of the assassin as he watched the city guards scramble across a rooftop. It was a facade, however. His usual hubris was almost toned down in the face of death. It was hard to exude arrogance while the others were having genuine emotional responses. Neous was too, but he masked his fear with disinterest, paying too close of attention to the guards and their machinations.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Behind Elias hovered Itto, the husbands finding comfort being near each other, even if neither of the men could bear to do anything but watch this scene unfold. While Itto paid more attention to the stability of those standing closest to him, Elias kept glancing upward to the dark clouds. He seemed twitchy, more than simply unnerved.


    There was a pulse of magic around her, static and metallic, and Gwenllian saw her friend¡¯s eyes widen in realization. She tilted her head to question it, slow to react as Elias leapt towards her and used his full weight to haul Gwenllian away from Auron¡¯s body.


    A crash of lightning struck behind her and for just a moment, the world went silent and bright.


    The crowd was left stunned, ears ringing with a painful whine and a splotch of white in their eyes from the sudden flash. When they¡¯d barely recovered, there was something to witness.


    Kneeling over Auron¡¯s body was a figure, hands clutching desperately at the hood of their roughhewn cloak to secure it over their face. Reverberations of lightning arced over their back, even as they bent forward with strange convulsions. A hand weighed down the hood while the other clenched the piles of fabric on the ground, trying to balance throughout the shuddering motions. It looked like they were coughing, but the onlookers were too impaired to determine anything useful. Even the Seats stared on in disbelief, unsure what or who they were seeing.


    The figure gained their composure in the few precious seconds they had with a still-impaired audience. Their cloak hid their face and form well, the shadows of the arcane clouds hiding any features that might slip into vision. As they sat upright, their hands loosened on the fabric, falling from their hood, relinquishing the silks below them. In a moment of paralysis, it seemed to strike them where they were and who was beneath them.


    With a faltering motion, the figure smoothed out the silks they¡¯d rumpled in respectful apology. Their hand slid from Auron¡¯s side to his chest, fingers trailing around the fatal wound as if touch was the only thing that could verify this surreal death. The stranger passed their thumb over the protruding arrow before gripping it tightly and pulling it out.


    A gasp rose from a few of the Seats, horrified at the juxtaposition of intimate care and stark brutality. Should they do something? Should they stop this stranger? There was no resolution, no action taken. They watched in painful curiosity. Frozen wasn¡¯t the word, not this time. They¡¯d been frozen when Auron died, frozen in the absence of Light, in the loss of hope and wonder. Frozen suited the Deity who reigned over water, anyways.


    They were shocked now. Shocked was right for this stranger. Shocked suited the lightning, suited how they touched the Deity of Light as if they knew them intimately, suited how utterly foreign this scene was.


    Shocked. That fit the Dark, didn¡¯t it?


    Itto was the first to connect the dots, his look of horror melting into sorrow, into grief. If this was the Deity of Darkness, it was truly a day to show mercy and kindness. The Dark God had been absent for more than five-hundred years, simply vanished from the face of the world. Auron implied that there was a reason, but never gave more than a few words of explanation. He always believed that the Dark would return, someday. Always believed but could never say how.


    Itto remembered a conversation that sent pangs of sorrow through his heart, sympathy pains for the two figures at the center of the dais, being watched by all. Years ago, Auron pulled both Itto and Kian aside to give the pair cryptic instructions. If there was ever a moment where the Light God might die, and either Itto or Kian could prevent it as the more combat-versed Seats, they had strict orders to do nothing. To not act, at all. To let Auron, the Deity of Light, die.


    Maybe his assumptions were contrived, but in his grief, Itto drew lines between that morbid request and the events of today. The Deity of Light died; the Deity of Dark miraculously returned. They had to be connected. It was the only thing that made sense of all this. Itto glanced at Kian, who was too distracted to return his eye contact. Had she thought of this yet? Later, later Itto would tell her. They didn¡¯t have to keep this a secret anymore, now that the outcome that Auron desired had come to fruition.


    The arrow dropped noiselessly onto the fabrics pooled around Auron¡¯s body. The hooded figure was indifferent to the gasps of shock and murmuring of the crowd, ignoring everything but their task at hand. They pulled the edges of the haori into their proper place, as if dressing the corpse for a funeral. Auron had to look as if he was sleeping, resting, as if he would wake up any moment.


    Then, the Dark Deity placed their hand onto Auron¡¯s cheek with the reverence of a lover, their own pale hand contrasting with brown skin underneath. They visibly sighed and their head dipped lower, a sign of grief-stricken acceptance of this reality. To the observers, this was too intimate, too personal to bear. It felt like an eternity before the hooded figure moved again, drawing their hand down Auron¡¯s cheek and neck.


    The effects were immediate. The Dark had domain over death, over the physical, tangible things in this world. The corpse of Auron, the Deity of Light, began to decay rapidly starting at his caressed cheek. It was horrifying to witness, but it was mercifully quick, almost too quick for the eye to process. Soft flesh didn¡¯t have time to rot but instead crumbled and turned to powder. The bones were slower to dissolve, but only the skull was visible, the rest graciously hidden by the waves of fabric and silk. The haori collapsed into a flat pile on the stone dais once Auron was rendered into nothing but dust, and then that too decayed with a careful touch from the Dark Deity.


    The rapid decay drew sudden reactions out of the Seats who were barely managing to maintain self-control. Cas shrieked involuntarily and stumbled backwards, landing on xir rear and scuttling away in terror. Kian began to speak in a fury, tears streaming from the corner of her eyes, but she could only blurt out half-formed words. Gwenllian was crying now too, but her grief was hidden by her hand covering most of her face.


    The Dark held up a hand toward the Seats, acknowledging them for the first time. The gesture said to wait, to steady themselves and seek out calm. Then, they brought a finger up towards their own face. Quiet, it meant. It was not an order, but a plea. Please, don¡¯t make this harder than it already is. As if bearing a profound weight, the hooded figure stood and chose a Seat to approach.


    It was Gwenllian, sprawled out on the ground where she¡¯d fallen after Elias saved her. The Dark Deity¡¯s hand reached out to help her to her feet. She took the hand ¨C it was warm, almost hot ¨C without hesitation but with tension settling in her chest. This wasn¡¯t her god, but the god of the others, of Itto and Elias and Neous. Why did they choose her?


    The Dark leaned over and spoke to her, in a calm, efficient tone laced with a heavy accent reminiscent of high mountain ranges and moorlands. It took only a few seconds to relay the information that she and the Seats needed to know. Then, the Dark was gone. They grasped at their hood once more to secure it and strode off the dais and towards an exit. No one stopped them. A guard shifted, as if thinking about doing something, but they didn¡¯t dare risk the wrath of this magical stranger.


    All eyes turned to Gwenllian now. She stared at the arch of the garden wall through which the hooded figure exited, thoughts momentarily failing to reconcile. Then, her duty became the priority. She cleared her throat and used the base of her palm to wipe away the tears from her eyes.


    ¡°Elias,¡± the Seat of Water spoke quietly but firmly, making a simple gesture towards her mouth. The man trembled as the shock set in, but he complied. A small disc of magic appeared before the woman¡¯s face, a pale yellow-white glow emanating from it. The specialty of lightning magic was sound. She cleared her throat again, the rough noise reverberating through the sound-disc which cast her voice loudly to the crowd.


    ¡°The Deity of Light, Auron, has been assassinated. However, his death is not permanent.¡±


    It was not well known that the deities in their human form could be resurrected, as Auron had been the only deity in the world for hundreds of years, with no deaths to speak of. A lot of the Guild members were in attendance today, but not all of them were as intimately familiar with Auron and the quirks of his divine nature.


    ¡°I have been advised that Auron will return in a few days, or at the longest, a week. The Guild will update the city when this occurs, and we expect the city guard will handle the assassin.¡±


    Gwenllian paused to still her pounding heart. The sounds of crying and startled conversations came from all around her, from the crowd and some of the Seats themselves. At once, she knew why the Dark Deity chose to speak to her. She was the only Seat who could put aside her grief and handle this announcement with tact. She had to press on, for the Guild and for her companions.


    ¡°While we are relieved that Auron will be returning, we ¨C the Guild ¨C ask that you do not approach our headquarters or our members with questions until the Deity of Light has been revived. We know as much as you do, at the moment. What we have all collectively witnessed is the common knowledge.¡±


    ¡°As for the¡­ hooded figure that appeared, we do not suspect they were involved with the assassination attempt¨C¡± Gwenllian had to clarify this, as the crowd¡¯s view of the stranger¡¯s intimate contact with Auron had been blocked. ¡°¨Cbut we will be investigating. I do not believe there is any reason to panic about their presence, whomever they are.¡±


    Although Gwenllian primarily practiced healing, she also specialized in communication, both telepathic and emotional. The figure, the Dark Deity, gave off a warmth and a sense of protection. There were other emotional signals only Gwenllian could have perceived, but she didn¡¯t have time to think too deeply about the anxiety and distress hidden beneath that warm presence.


    ¡°Thank you for understanding and giving us the space we need.¡± Those words were delivered with a finality and sternness that firmly drew a line in the sand, one that people would undoubtedly cross but that was placed there for a reason.


    She caught Kian¡¯s eye who nodded and stepped forwards to the front of the dais. Gwenllian could relax and stop being the public face now. Questions were shouted from the crowd as the Seat of Water left the stage with her arms around Cas, who was shaking with sobs. Gwenllian could hear Kian intercept the crowd¡¯s demands, ordering them to disperse, and she could hear Itto start to gather up Elias and the guild members to leave and take refuge out of the public gaze.


    They could breathe, for a moment. She only hoped that the Dark Deity, wherever they were, was doing the same.

 Ch 2: Coming to Terms

    The city of Djam¨ªcte blurred past in a rush of buildings and their occupants, gardens flourishing, public spaces occupied by those individuals who weren¡¯t attending Auron¡¯s speech. Life went on, even as the remnants of Deity of Light scattered to the wind.


    Everything here was painted with the broad strokes of Auron¡¯s influence, in the architecture, in how the city itself was laid out. It was orderly, well-structured, and easy to navigate.


    For the occupants of this world, Auron had been their direct connection to the divine for generations. History books recorded him as the god of the People, the literal embodiment of Light, which in turn encompassed knowledge, communication, emotions, and order.


    Auron was considered Life itself, and so life thrived in his presence.


    In contrast, the Deity of Darkness had darted off down an alleyway the moment no one could perceive them, their hooded cloak dissipating at their command.


    Despite the rapid thumping in their chest and the pressing anxiety that made it hard to breathe, the entity forced their gait to a leisurely stroll and turned onto a main street. Their hand jumped to their face, adjusting dark-tinted glasses that hadn¡¯t been there seconds before.


    They always forgot the eyes.


    They were the Deity of Darkness, deity of physical things, things that had shape and matter. Forming and dissolving objects was relatively simple, such as summoning the glasses and dissolving the cloak. But it became complicated when the Dark touched on shapeshifting.


    They were bound to a form they chose each time they resurrected, but they could shift the parts of that form, like faking an accent or silly voice. They always returned to their baseline appearance. It took work and energy to shapeshift, but the Dark Deity was well-practiced at their art.


    It was just¡­ they always forgot to hide their eyes; they couldn¡¯t change how those appeared.


    The Dark Deity was blind, had always been blind since time immemorial, would be blind until the death of the universe itself. It was a fact of reality that the Dark could not see as humans did.


    They had an alternative way of perceiving the world, dictated by their own magical aura and the auras of the objects around them. It had limited focus, but it worked well for the dexterous entity who could maneuver quickly when something came into their periphery.


    They only needed to perceive the street in front of them for a few feet to avoid immanent collisions. And as luck would have it, the city of Djam¨ªcte was built by and around the ancient Guild, which meant there was magic everywhere.


    To the Dark¡¯s perception, the world was a void of nothingness until magic touched it. As the entity strolled past Djam¨ªcte¡¯s magic-lit streetlamps, the glowing fire outlined anything its aura touched.


    Streetlamps implied edges of the streets; the Dark knew where the walkways were now. They nodded at civilians as they passed by with enchanted possessions marking them as existing in the Dark¡¯s perception. Earrings with a glamour for attention lit up the woman¡¯s head and neck; shoes enchanted to be durable and last longer indicated where her companion next stepped. A floating head, an isolated pair of feet, and touches of further recognition when they passed through the streetlamp¡¯s aura.


    It would be a headache for any human to understand, but this was how the Deity of Darkness had been perceiving the world since it was made.


    They spread their own magic, their own aura, out around them like a fishing net to catch any sudden hazards. It was in a small circle, just enough to maintain without draining their energy, but it was a perfect size to navigate their way across the city.


    The world was so different than the Dark Deity remembered. Five-hundred and forty-three years of being absent, and life had truly changed.


    Auron had done a great job taking care of Djam¨ªcte and the Guild. The Dark was proud of what this place had grown into, how vibrant it seemed even to their limited perception and sparse knowledge of modern society.


    The Dark found comfort in noting these details about the city, the world. It was infinitely easier than processing what had just happened, what was happening.


    They had been dropped into the deep end of awful situations ¨C their partner, best friend, and lover dead, forced to confront this reality as the Seats stared, while the whole damn world watched ¨C and instead of choosing the mature, responsible option of taking to the lectern and introducing themselves, the Deity of Darkness ran.


    They were ashamed of their choice, but thinking about the situation forced their chest to tighten in a knot of emotions. Those little moments lingered in their thoughts and were sure to haunt them long into the night.


    The fading aura around Auron, his form slowly disappearing from the Dark¡¯s perception. The way the magic in Auron¡¯s blood lingered on the arrowhead with a morbid glow. The horrified sounds of the crowd, of the Seats themselves. The logical conclusion that the hooded figure who magically appeared at the Light¡¯s death was an enemy, was someone to be feared and hated.


    Even on a surface level, without presumptions and blame involved, the Dark¡¯s appearance being tangentially connected to a deity¡¯s death was dangerous.


    And the Dark laid their hands on the Light and made it rot.


    In their mind, it was a gesture of farewell and goodwill. To send off Auron¡¯s corpse to the beyond, to ensure that there would be no body for Auron¡¯s loved ones to clean up.


    But these were the thoughts of an entity made of darkness, who embodied death and chaos.


    The Dark didn¡¯t have to ask. They already knew that in their long absence, not even Auron¡¯s patient teachings could have prevented fear from tainting assumptions of dark magic. It was the same way hundreds of years ago.


    They saw fire and cried in the wake of destruction. They forgot to note the renewal it brought, the warmth it provided, the communities and technologies that were built around hearth and home. Warmth was good, but fire magic was too wild, they said.


    Lightning was a little different. They knew of its dangers, of the unpredictable death it could bring with flickering, painful arcs. But the very same lightning was harnessed into lights and machines. Even now, the Guild had organizational systems built off of lightning magic. Lightning was fire that could be contained.


    Metal, if you didn¡¯t speak of it as such, was the perfect element. It was used for the building blocks of society, used in machines, decorations, for protection and for creation. But the magic of metal always invoked weaponry, always invoked war and conflict. Metal meant blood.


    The world thought first of destruction, chaos, war, and death when the Dark was invoked. In their absence, humanity had become numb to the good things that dark magic could provide. Those were wounds it would take time to heal. Could the deity even begin to try, though? Was it worth the effort?


    If only Auron were here. He would know what to do.


    With trepidation about what judgement was to come, the Dark navigated their way towards the Guild.


    Fuck, they needed a name.


    The few they used in the past were practically declarations of age, they all felt like dry stone and old murals on the Dark¡¯s tongue. They might as well call themselves Archaic and wear the truth on their sleeve.


    Yet they were still nameless as they arrived at the entrance of the Guild, still nameless as they hauled the heavy wooden doors open and stepped inside.


    In the ephemeral space of the doorway, before the occupants of the Guild could see their features, the Dark made some quick adjustments to their appearance.


    Nothing bodily changed, no. They still had the form they¡¯d been resurrected with ¨C masc-of-center, built for manual labor with some healthy body fat, auburn-haired with thin scars striping across their face, a short trim beard ¨C but as they passed the threshold, they added on a few extraneous details.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Fun things, to fit the person they wanted to become. Dark-inked tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of their collared shirt, a little brass pocket watch tucked into their plain waistcoat, metal studs in their ears and a gold ring at their nose.


    This persona was not quite fictional. Whenever the Dark changed forms, they liked to pick up a theme of one of their specialties.


    Their last form from hundreds of years prior specialized in defense, using a shield and metal magic. This time, the Dark felt they could be better served by an identity that could find use in the Guild, even without Auron present to help ingratiate them.


    An Engineer, someone who could deal with the crossover of metal and lightning magic, to tweak the systems of the Guild that likely needed some adjustment. It was perfect.


    (The Dark could dream, too, of being needed, of being necessary to the Guild in some tangible way. It wasn¡¯t enough to be a divine, but they wanted to know that after all these years, that they were still necessary to the Guild, that they hadn¡¯t been written out of its functions.)


    They stepped into the Guild for the first time in centuries and put on a wide grin, the features behind their glasses expressing awe and delight.


    The entry to the Guild opened into a long hall with high arched ceilings, a grand sight for those new to the establishment. The left and right sides of the hall were lined with columns, entering further into wings where tables and chairs, fireplaces, and other comfortable accommodations could be found.


    At the end of each wing was a large door.


    To the right, the door was bordered with white marble carved into flowing shapes, with an intricate sun mounted above the entryway.


    To the left, a much simpler door, painted black with some subtle wrought iron framing the entrance.


    The two doors were the entrances to the shrines, the places of worship for the two divines, and they radiated so much magical energy that the Dark could see anything within twenty feet of the door frames alone.


    The fireplaces were lit with magical fires, warm but unable to burn out without interference. Above the front counter itself was a sign made of literal light ¨C a book over a star or a compass rose ¨C the insignia of the Light God radiating Auron¡¯s brand of magic.


    All in all, this was a very friendly place for the Dark to exist in; their perception could very easily establish the layout of the room, and it would only get easier when more magically inclined occupants were here to lend their auras.


    ¡°Quite the place ye have here,¡± the stranger announced to the room, which was almost entirely empty, save for one guild worker who watched with curiosity from the countertop that served as both front desk and bar.


    The guild worker spoke up with a little chuckle. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re proud of it.¡±


    He gestured toward a few stools lining the left side of the countertop. ¡°If you¡¯re here to drink, take a seat, otherwise shop¡¯s closed for the day. Boss-man is giving a speech at the Innsview Gardens.¡±


    The Dark slid onto one of the stools, tapping their knuckle on the worn wood of the countertop. ¡°I¡¯ve business with Boss-man, as it were.¡±


    Lying was easiest when it was based on the truth, but even the Dark Deity hesitated before delivering their next deception, a pain sinking into their chest.


    ¡°Do ye think it¡¯ll be finished within the hour? Guessin the question really is if I should drink or wait.¡±


    The answer was to drink, obviously, and the bartender nodded and gestured at a few shelves behind him, lined with bottles. ¡°What¡¯ll it be?¡±


    The Dark grimaced and gave another half-truth in reply. ¡°Cannae see very well, have problems with sight, but I¡¯ll take any distilled spirits, if ye have it. Neat, please.¡±


    ¡°Of course, whiskey?¡± The worker asked, silently thinking to himself that if this stranger wanted vodka shots in mid-afternoon, it might be a good idea to distance them from the Seats and Auron.


    The Dark nodded. Whiskey sounded fair. He would have accepted anything with a good enough flavor or strong enough bite, but there was nothing wrong with a time-honored favorite for brooding drinkers. He tried not to think too hard about the barkeep presuming he was from ¨¤rd-T¨¬reach since technically the form the deity chose to take referenced a spirit from Th¨¬r folklore. It was a correct assumption, really.


    While the worker fulfilled the order, the Dark observed and took note of this new human.


    There were a few things to be assumed here. This man was a front-of-house worker, so either he had a glowing personality¡­ or he was very good at his job. Not that the Dark doubted the worker¡¯s temperament, of course, it was just that ¨C well, the worker radiated metal magic.


    To those perceptive to auras and energies, metal was a magic that you felt on your tongue, like the taste of copper, and you could sense it weighing heavily in the air.


    People with metal magic had their own tendencies, either towards combat or conflict, or towards sharp or blunt personalities. The Deity assumed it was the latter.


    To the Dark, the worker¡¯s practiced movements left trails of metal energy chasing after his hands in motion. Like most mages who chose to specialize their abilities, the traces of this man¡¯s magic sat in specific parts of his body. His hands were the primary location; his spine was lined with the same metallic energy as well.


    Ah, the Dark could interpret this. The bartender likely trained in finesse skills, perhaps using knives or short weapons. The spine was an intriguing location, unlikely to be an intentional gathering of energies.


    The phrase ¡®steeled oneself¡¯ was quite literal when it came to those with metal magic. The Dark remembered seeing warriors whose boasts and war-cries would send flares of metal magic down their backs. It was a sign of confidence, but confidence earned by practice, skill, or necessity.


    The man¡¯s aura flashed by his face and past his shoulder, the Dark perceived long locs adorned with little rings, a waistcoat with a small, rectangular box tucked into the pocket, and sleeves held down by garters.


    The Dark would put money into the idea that this bartender was a gambler.


    Oh, shit. Money.


    There were as many downsides to being a Deity as there were benefits, but the Dark had to hand it to, uh, themselves, for designing a universe in which they could access necessary information at a whim.


    Sure, the Dark Deity wasn¡¯t Auron, Deity of Knowledge who could easily conjure up facts about past, present, and occasionally future. But they could make this query work for them.


    The Dark wasn¡¯t allowed to summon information they shouldn¡¯t know, but cultural and social information important to their survival? That was considered necessary.


    Now, what was the currency of this time period? Instantly, the relevant information came to mind. They were grateful that it was determined to be necessary knowledge, or else they would have been screwed.


    As the bartender returned with a drink, the Dark conjured up a small leather pouch of the appropriate coins for Djam¨ªcte¡¯s economy from his pocket. They set the bag on the countertop with a little jingle, gesturing towards it and giving what they hoped was an apologetic look.


    (Facial expressions were always a hit or miss for someone who couldn¡¯t see.)


    ¡°Aye, thanks. Take what you¡¯re owed. The little numbers are a bit much for me.¡±


    The Dark tried not to laugh as they caught motion of the bartender nodding before good sense caught up with him and he verbalized that confirmation.


    The deity could play it safe and sit here and wait quietly, unobtrusively until everyone showed back up, but the Dark liked this bartender already. In fairness, it was hard for them not to like someone who clearly had devoted his life to dark magic.


    ¡°Patrons must be at the ceremony with the rest ae yer lot, then?¡± The Guild was very empty, or at least this main hall was terribly vacant with only the bartender and the Dark Deity to converse.


    ¡°Mhmm,¡± The man answered, leaning on something behind him and folding his arms. ¡°You didn¡¯t wanna to go?¡±


    It was a fair question. ¡°No, crowds are¨C I¡¯m nae one for crowds. Or being watched.¡± That was completely honest and today it had proven it more than true. The Dark Deity continued in their amicable tone.


    ¡°Least, for speeches and such. Cannae imagine being on stage with no else to occupy me.¡± With a grumble at the mere thought of giving a speech, the deity started in on their drink.


    Music was part of the Dark¡¯s domain and performing was a subset of that. But it wasn¡¯t speech-giving, all rhetoric and logic. The Dark preferred the pure action of being a spectacle, not a vessel for some carefully crafted soliloquy.


    They felt calmer now that they weren¡¯t being watched by so many eyes. Perhaps the Dark couldn¡¯t see the faces of the crowd, but they were unsettled by the knowledge that everyone had been observing them, watching them grieve and waiting for answers, explanations.


    Ugh, it was a living nightmare. Here, in the Guild that the two divines had built together so long ago, talking to this delightful gentleman¨C Here the Dark could relax.


    The bartender let out a huff in amusement at the Dark¡¯s earnest answer. ¡°Yeah, me neither. I like it here when it¡¯s quiet. Get work done.¡±


    There were any number of tasks to complete for the Guild. He didn¡¯t solely manage the bar. His partner-in-crime ran the front desk and was the first face that people greeted when entering the Guild, cheerful and friendly. The bartender was more of a silent helper, half-bouncer, half-administrative assistant.


    The Dark smiled at their companion whose words trailed off as if he was lost in thought. ¡°What do I call ye?¡±


    ¡°Silver,¡± the man answered as he reached for a handshake. ¡°Oh, uh, hand?¡±


    The Dark was already moving to reciprocate and this time they did laugh. ¡°I guessed that would be next, dinnae fret.¡± The bartender had a firm grip, rings on his fingers, and what felt like rough callouses too. These were more details to add to the Deity¡¯s understanding of who Silver was.


    After clasping hands, Silver leaned back and gave an untroubled wave as if clearing out the temporary awkwardness. ¡°And you?¡±


    The Deity of Darkness was still nameless which presented a problem. Regular people knew their names. Regular people didn¡¯t hesitate. Humans had names, that could be changed sometimes, but not like this, not when asked by a bartender over drinks.


    ¡°Hrm,¡± they stalled for time and stalled out. It was now or never.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go with¡­ Razlok.¡±


    They didn¡¯t need to see Silver¡¯s face to know eyebrows were being raised. The answer was a whim, a combination of syllables the Dark enjoyed pushing together whose sum had no linguistic meaning across the cultures of the world.


    ¡°You¡¯ll go with it?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± the newly named Razlok affirmed, feeling more confident with their choice as time pressed onward. They sighed quietly, thinking about how much time had passed since they had a name, since anyone had spoken to them so directly.


    ¡°Sometimes ye need to start over.¡±


    There was a long silence between the two figures, but it wasn¡¯t as uncomfortable as Razlok expected.


    Silver relented. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll drink to that.¡±


    While Razlok processed with a fraction of amusement that this somehow worked, Silver drew himself up a drink of his own.


    ¡°To new names.¡± He raised his glass.


    ¡°And new mates?¡± Razlok added, a touch questioningly.


    It was well received: ¡°Of course. It¡¯s the way of the Guild. Cheers.¡±


    ¡°Sl¨¤inte,¡± Razlok replied with a raised glass. This might just turn out okay.