Xala held his hands behind his back as he walked beside Colhern through the streets of Southern Fae Town. Last night they paraded through the streets in high spirits and whimsically frollicked. Now, in the daylight or whatever scant amount there was, they strolled through the crooked, curvy, twisted, elevated, recessed, sprawling, narrow streets of the city. The crowds had died down ever so slightly. People were at their jobs, got their morning groceries, and purchased whatever they needed for the day. Those who lingered now were the night dwellers out and about before their shifts, the destitute, or those with days off in more ways than one.

  Colhern led Xala onto a street that sizzled the air with arcane energies. He could feel the pops and cracks of it all up and down the many signs and entrances to boutiques and shops. He walked toward a window and inspected a robe on display. It shimmered in the wisp-light above. Blue velvet flowed together into multiple sashes around a long tailing flow of fabric. Even through the glass he could surmise its latent power. Whatever imbuements were placed upon it were well made.

  “Do you like that one?” Colhern said, “It’s nice.”

  “It is, but I’ve never liked myself in blue.” He sighed. “Changing its color would dilute its properties. A diminishment of power for the sake of aesthetics.” He shook his head. “Not worth it.”

  “Then you might have some problems finding black,” he gestured around at the other clothes on display. Xala frowned as he saw a lack of robes. Even though many people in Fae Town walked around with the flowy garments, they were usually old and clearly passed down. The latest fashion, unaffordable to most, seemed more breathable and airy, akin to Frederick’s wardrobe, and the non-imbued attire of the age. The clothes Xala wore were definitely comfortable, but he always longed to earn a set of gorgeous, long wizard robes. “Black isn’t really a mage’s friend.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Grave Snatchers wear them. They’re a gang up in Northern Fae Town that practices the dark arts. Not necromancy, but all sorts of stuff.”

  Xala’s eyebrows rose, his interest piqued, and he wanted to ask more. Alas, he had to pace himself. If he gave away his own proficiencies to Colhern he had no idea how he would react. Thus, he went slowly. “If those mages wear black, why’d you approach me? Would I not have seemed among their numbers?”

  “Easy, you were having fun. You actually enjoyed using your magic. First thing I noticed.” He stepped away from the window and walked down the street, toward a stall full of charms and jewelry, and inspected the wares as he said, “Snatchers never have fun.”

  Xala reached for one of the wooden multi-strand necklaces. Among its layers of wooden beads were pendants of goat heads. Their horns came in many shapes, but all of their eyes were missing. He hovered his hand over it and gently brushed his fingers along the invisible currents of energy radiating from them. He felt peaceful in its radiance. Every muscle on his body felt more relaxed, his mind felt quieter, and he let out a slow breath of relief.

  “You’ve got a good eye, boy.” Xala looked up to see a Dusk-Kin elf. Their body was a mass of fungal forms and shapes. Their face bloomed out of the middle of whatever once might have been considered a face, featureless aside from dips and bumps along the surface to mimic eyes and lips and cheeks, while the central bloom was a bright red display of folds. Every other part of their body was wrapped in burgundy fabric that seemed to heighten the vibrancy of their face. They lifted their wrapped hands and pointed with an elongated finger toward the talisman. “That there was made by Festus the Mystic. They say he was able to stop a war with a whisper and fly without even a spell, by virtue of his own enlightenment. I think he was simply on a substance.” Their voice came from the folds, but Xala could not see any obvious movement of their face.

  Xala was a tad starstruck before he blinked and smiled apologetically, “You have a fascinating collection. How did you source all of this?”

  “Here and there. The mycelium travels far and wide, and we pick up what we find.”

  “Mycelium? Does that apply to all species of fungus, or a specific one?”

  “Hehe, all. We are distant from the hive, but we still connect with them. Here we spread, to clean and pluck the streets of this wondrous place.”

  Xala looked around. He had noticed Fae Town had a lack of organic trash. Cups, papers, and other litter was scattered all around but he never really saw too much food or waste on the ground. “Fascinating. Do you enjoy it here?”

  “Ah, what Child of Dradihn does not enjoy wherever they are? We are here to stay, and when we are bidden to leave, we leave. It is the way.”

  Xala glanced toward Colhern, who was half paying attention and half interested in a set of rings. He picked up the eyeless goat necklace and appraised it more closely. “I’m not sure I understand, but I’d like to. I have never come across a Child of Dradihn before.”

  “We are rare. We remain in the subterrane. Even Fae Town is too close to the surface for many of us. The sun may not be our enemy, but it is not our friend.” Their stall was situated in a particularly shady corner of the street, even if no light spreader shined sunlight upon it. “We, however, enjoy the people we find here far more than those in the depths. They are cautious of us, view us as strangers and alien, but they do not strike us. They do not threaten us. Only the children do, and they are even lesser threats than beetles.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Ismaf. Pleasure to meet you,”

  “Xala.”

  Ismaf tensed. They held their hands in their lap as they shifted a look over toward Colhern, who had moved on to some broaches, and focused on Xala. Ismaf’s voice appeared in Xala’s mind, as if it spoke directly through his eardrums, Xala? That is your name?

  Xala’s eyes narrowed. They dared to enter his mind? Very well. His thoughts traced the flow of that voice to the spores in the air, the ones that came from the Dusk-Kin. He spoke back in kind, used his psyche to ripple his thoughts between the spores, and said, Yes. What of it?

  A Dawn-Kin elf named Xala. Golden eyes. Lavender inscriptions. You are from Okra.

  Is that so?

  We know it. An Axoti remembered you. A woman absorbed into the mycelium. She saw you. She tormented you, she hated you, and feared you. Alas, her memories are blurred and shadowy, but we remember seeing you. She blames you for death and strife. Why?

  Do you desire that answer from the depths of your soul?

  There was a pause. Ismaf simply watched Xala. By then, Colhern had come back over, saw the talisman in Xala’s hand, and said, “Oh, you want that one? It looks nice.”

  What are your intentions with this boy, Xala?

  “Hmm, I’m thinking about it.” He smiled up at Colhern, looked back at the talisman, and said, You should be more concerned about his intentions with me, dear. I am harmless.

  You lie. Hah, you lie so easily. We know your face, death-dealer. Be careful. Take the talisman, may it aid you off your dark path. Ismaf put her hands together and chuckled heartily before she said, “Please, have it. Free of charge. You have given us a lovely conversation.”

  Who lies easily now? Xala’s eyes lit up, clutched the necklace, and said, “Oh, are you sure?” When he received a nod, he said, “Thank you so much! Col, you like it?”

  “It’s a little macabre, but I think it works.” He took the necklace from his hands, undid the clasp on the back, and reached over to put it around Xala’s neck. He swallowed as he stared up at Colhern, whose eyes were half-lidded and a slight smile rested on his face. Xala felt the weight of the necklace slide across his shoulders, around his neck, and felt the warmth of Colhern’s hands on either side of his neck. When he heard the snap and the subsequent removal of his hands, he dreaded the loss of that warmth. “Oh, yeah, that looks good on you.”

  Xala felt a wave of ease pass over him. The talisman worked its magic and relaxed his body, eased his mind, and added a sort of weightlessness to his body. Festus the Mystic must have been a wonderful imbuer. Did your mycelium consume him too? He blinked twice and said, “Thank you.” His face felt warm.

  Leave us, killer of men. Leave us in peace. Ismaf clapped their hands together, “Oh, yes, how nice. Have a wonderful day, you boys.”

  They both waved Ismaf off and continued down the street. Xala walked a few inches closer to Colhern than usual. Colhern noticed, caught Xala’s curious glance, and chuckled a little as he brushed their knuckles together. Xala did not pull his hand away. “Looks like you’re in a good mood.”

  “I’m excited for the match,” he gently brushed his fingers over the talisman, slithered his own magic into the imbuement, and altered its properties. A very slight change that allowed his mind to think as loudly as he wanted it to. The concept of a quiet mind was dual sided. On the one hand, for him, it would be a boon to think less. To hear less. To visualize less. On the other hand, a lack of constant thought would weaken his reflexes and surely be the destruction of himself. No doubt that happened to Festus the Mystic.

  “Nah, I don’t think that’s all. There’s something else on your mind.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Aw, you’re gonna make me pry it out of you?”

  As much as Xala wanted there to be something more romantic or appealing to say, his mind was literally swarmed with thoughts of all different kinds. The Grave Snatchers alongside Colhern and Ismaf were at the forefront of his imagination. A gang of rogue wizards far to the North, a species of people who knew who he was through the memories of the dead, and a man beside him who made his nerves tingle. If a whole species knew who he was, or so he imagined, then who else could remember this face? Would they be powerful? Would he have to change his face and name to survive?

  His lips twitched before he said with a small smile, “I like this street. I like that you brought me here.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  The back of Colhern’s hand brushed against Xala’s again, his fingers glided along his, and he said, “You’re welcome.”

  His first instinct was to pull away. What if they were caught holding hands? What sort of fuss would it cause? Though, right as he felt that paranoia, his mind inserted memories of the club from the night before. The people outside of it. The freedom they expressed with each other. Xala glanced down at Colhern’s hand, reached out, and held his palm open. Colhern’s hand wasted little time to match the invitation, his rough calloused palm found his soft and smooth one, his fingers slipped between his, and gently held his hand.

  “You’re not used to this, are you?”

  “My homeland wasn’t very open-minded.” Nor was Morl. The first time he tried to hold his hand he was smacked in the face. “I still feel nervous here.”

  “Don’t be. No one would say anything. Also, if they did, I’d knock ‘em out.”

  Xala pursed his lips together and had to look away. He imagined him and Colhern down the streets of Crimsire, a man shouted profanity at them, and was subsequently pummeled to a pulp. He glanced toward Colhern’s arms. They were hidden by his jacket, but he wondered about the muscle and strength beneath the surface. He bit the inside of his cheek and muttered, “Understood.”

  Nobody cared. Nobody glanced over, saw their hands together, and said a word. The only time someone did speak up was when someone who knew Colhern came over and caught up with him, introduced themselves to Xala, and went about their way. It was nice. They passed through the main streets a few times, experienced the chaos and hustle of it all, and continued on through sparsely crowded passages flanked by shops and residentials. In the crawl spaces of the city, he understood the flow of life in Fae Town. It was a slow, relatively peaceful existence. Well, it was peaceful wherever Colhern took him.

  In the peripherals of his senses, he felt the underlying danger of the city. Colhern knew where to go, but Xala still smelled blood, drugs, and violence. Some were out in the open, most were indoors, but the stench lingered everywhere. The simmering of it all made Xala’s mind dance. He enjoyed it. The blatant dichotomy, the darkness, the mayhem beneath the surface. It was a far cry from monotony and offered plenty of souls to consume.

  “Oh, hey, here’s a place I think you’ll like,” Colhern halted their stroll and pointed up at a sign that read Magda’s Magical Minagerie.

  Xala tilted his head. “A zoo?”

  “Kind of, she just wanted the name to sound fun. C’mon,” he pulled Xala inside, the door’s bell jingled, and they entered a shop full of books, statuettes, trinkets, and gizmos. Xala gawked at the collection. It was an arcanist’s dream to possess the things in the shop — books held shut by chains lined the walls, each one twitching and writhing to get out, dolls whose cursed energies ricocheted inside of them within their glass prisons, machines that simulated the solar system, a whole wall full of reagents and ingredients for alchemy, and all manner of other oddities and goodies.

  Xala felt like a kid in a candy shop as he split from Colhern and ran from shelf to shelf, slipped past other customers to see what else he could find, and smiled broadly at the sight of a miniature ogre wandering around his terrarium.

  “Magda, meet Xala.” He turned his head to find Colhern leaned against the counter. Beside him, a fluffy calico cat seated on a crushed velvet white pillow rested on the counter. He stood up straight and tilted his head at the sight of the cat. She was dressed in all sorts of beads and jewels and wore a white sari around her body as she lounged within her cushion. The moment Xala laid eyes on her, he could feel the power she exuded. It flowed around her like a tempest, but seemed contained to the space of her pillow. In that moment, he knew why she commanded the things within her shop to a stand-still when they could otherwise break from their containers and wreak havoc.

  “Mmm, he doesn’t seem like much.” Magda purred with a slight grin as she sat up. Xala realized she was somewhat humanoid. She was about three feet tall, if that, and sat cross-legged on her pillow with her hands in her lap. “Young man, your inscriptions are pretty, but do they reveal much about your power?”

  Unlike the Dusk-Kin elves, he had not come across her species in his research the night prior. He smiled weakly, nodded his head in greeting, and said, “I don’t care to boast, ma’am.”

  “Oh? But you must. It is the system of status for our world, mage. You would hide your power from your own kind?”

  Xala stepped forward, placed his hands behind his back, and said, “Shouldn’t I? If someone cannot sense my power, is deception not the best approach if you intend to catch them off-guard?”

  “You have many enemies you wish to ambush?”

  “No. But, I have seen how powerful mages put a target on their back. Why create enemies when it can be avoided altogether?”

  “Hmm, civility versus noble savagery. You refuse the status and wealth open display of your magic would provide, in exchange for a humble, enemy-less existence. And yet, the world is ripe with people who would take advantage of a person they perceive to be weaker. Why incur their wrath, the wrath of bullies, when you could contend with those worthy of your expertise? Even in numbers, a weakling is still a weakling. Have all these weakling bullies against you, as your words imagine, and you can simply strike them all down in one place. Remove your obstacles, face your greatest enemies, and win over them to achieve greatness.”

  “Ah, and greatness cannot be achieved in the shadows? Is the light of fame and infamy the only way to attain greatness? Is greatness a vanity project or an intrinsic point of identity? Is it something else?”

  “Greatness, no matter what it is, cannot be hidden. It must be revealed, as a beacon for all to flock to. When greatness is revealed, it brings forth allies and enemies alike. In the shadows, you may be great, but you will be alone. All someone must do is shine a light on you, and you may scramble like roaches in a cave.”

  “There are many things in the dark that are far from lonely. Many more things that those in the light must be very careful not to shine a light on. In the dark, all manner of terrifying things live. When you are able to see them, and live among them, and remain invisible to them, you throw yourself into a world that will hone the mind, body, and soul far better than petty duels in sunlight. It is the difference between performance and survival.”

  “Civility and savagery.”

  “A too-tight collar and an endless field.”

  Magda watched Xala sternly. Colhern stood off to the side and pretended he did not exist. Xala matched Magda’s gaze.

  She broke into a chuckle and said, “Colhern, I like this one. Hehe, who taught you to debate, young man?”

  Xala bowed his head and smiled, “I often quarreled with the ideals and beliefs of the faithful.”

  “Hah! Don’t tell me you, a wee thing, were going up against paladins?!”

  “I was.”

  “And you lived to tell the tale of their raging mediocrity?”

  “Of course. I was called a heretic many times, even a blasphemer, but I always paraded myself as a whettstone for them to test their faith against.”

  “Thus you served a greater purpose to them. To them, you were an asset rather than an enemy.”

  “Yes. It also helped that I actually did not care whether they converted away from their faith or not. I just liked the fight.”

  “In that we have kinship. Colhern here tells me you are a universalist. Curious. Your types usually get picked up by the College when you’re toddlers. How did you evade their watchful eyes?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t interacted with the College much, as my homeland banned their presence.”

  “Ah, one of those fringe island nations, hm? Perhaps one governed by some remnant forces of the Red Empire? Let me guess. Eubos.”

  “A territory of it, Ikarn.” According to the Travel Tomes, that island was the most similar to ancient Crimsire in architecture and culture.

  “Huh, I’ve visited that wretched little heap of sand. You did well to leave. Wretches, all of them.”

  Colhern watched Xala with a slight smirk. He had not known what place Xala would choose for where he would say he was from, but he seemed glad that Magda was ready to believe it.

  “It has been a culture shock, coming from Ikarn to Feltkan. I have encountered more different species in less than twenty-four hours than I’ve ever even read about. Which would include you. Please, may I ask what you are?”

  “Ah, yes, the ignorance of the isles. Not your fault, young man, they are very nasty about outside influence and knowledge. I am a Gumbo grimalkin. I was born in the Wandering Elder city of Thimble Town in the jungles of Yakov. I highly recommend you visit some time, it is a lovely place. I haven’t been back in a while, but I could send a letter before you go to make sure you are welcomed with open arms.”

  “That would be wonderful, if I ever get the chance. Though, Thimble Town? Like, a thimble?”

  “Ah, yes, the mediocrity of Trymoran tongue. Yes, you’re right, Thimble like thimble, but our city’s name came first. When you visit, you’ll see why they named the little finger-protecters after our home.”

  “Well, now I must see what you mean.” Wandering Elders, thimble-inspiring cities built ontop of them, cat people? Trymora was an absurd place! “Your collection is impressive. I can hardly imagine that you sell much, despite your customers.” He eyed the people in the store. They were sparse and kept to themselves. “They seem more like onlookers than buyers.”

  “My collection is open to the public. I have no need to hoard my goods and trinkets. Think of this place as a halfway house for magical objects and oddities. People bring me their junk, I view the real value of it all, and put it on display. I’ve had many things come and go over the centuries.”

  Centuries? Was it still rude to ask a woman’s age? He really wanted to know if she compared to him, if she was somehow knowledgeable of ancient times like he was. “I can only imagine. I wonder, how long is your people’s typical lifespan?” She seemed relatively middle-aged, based on her eyes and movements.

  “About two centuries, but I have unlocked many secrets in my time that have let me last far longer. And no, don’t ask. I prefer to keep my years secretive.”

  “Understandable.” He placed his hands behind his back and looked up at the books behind her counter. They radiated power, were chained up, protected by enough charms to lock down a fortress, and all came from different ages and eras. “I would very much like to read those.”

  “You think yourself skilled enough to resist their temptations and whispers?”

  “I’ve had my fair share of experience with cursed grimoires.”

  “Hmm. Very well, you may. I’m curious to see if you can back up that claim. But, you must do it here, in the back room, where I’ve sealed it off so no outside influence can creep in, and no dark forces can get out.”

  “Wonderful, can we begin now?”

  Colhern cleared his throat, made them both look his way, and said, “We’ve only got another two hours before the match starts.”

  “Match? Colhern, you’re still pitfighting? I’m surprised your mother hasn’t forced you into her business yet.”

  “She won’t, Magda.” He straightened up and said to Xala, “Unless you want to stay here. I can pick you up later?” Xala felt like this was a test. He wanted to read the grimoire right now. What if someone burst through the door and stole them while he was gone? What if Magda was not strong enough to defend them?

  But, he saw the attempted neutrality on Colhern’s face. He really wanted Xala to see him fight. Xala did too, but those grimoires made his eyes twitch with anticipation. Alas, they would have to wait as Xala shook his head and said, “No, it’s fine. I’ll come back some other time.” He went over to Colhern’s side, took his hand, and squeezed it as he said, “I wouldn’t miss my first chance seeing you pummel someone.”

  “Ugh, you appreciate null violence?”

  “I appreciate any expression of consensual, combative violence, ma’am. The arena in Ikarn was my favorite form of entertainment.”

  “Uh-huh, so gladiators aren’t abnormal choices for you to spend time with?” Her tail swished as a mischievous grin pushed her whiskers up.

  “No, I usually despised the fighters themselves,” Xala retorted, looked up at Colhern, and said, “But, I’m ok with this one.”

  Colhern gasped and said, “Just ok?” He sucked his teeth and started toward the door, “Seeya later Magda!”

  Xala waved his farewell as he was pulled away, much to Magda’s amusement as she swished her tail and laid back down on her pillow and returned to her nap.