Void Walker

Chapter Four: The Healer, and The Dead

It was by far the worst storm Miklos had ever set his eyes upon.

In a manner which completely baffled him, streaks and razor-sharp arcs of lightning rained down from the sky akin to an enormous blistering downpour, and every simultaneous thunderclap that followed had him jumping out of his skin in fright. If Orichon's members were alarmed by the frenzied weather ravaging all around them, they gave no indication whatsoever. The spontaneous booms and crackles weaved their way into conversations and dissipated, no more than ghostly whispers in the shadows of passageways.

Most disconcerting of all, was that the swift change in weather came without warning, and it occurred to Miklos that anyone caught outside could very likely meet a shocking, electrifying fate. He tried not to dwell on that thought.

A little while ago, Miklos's appointed babysitters had given him a speedy tour around the first level of the guild, displaying their utter lack of ability to stay still for more than a few minutes. They had bulldozed him from one area to another, covering the circumference of the volcano in less than the amount of time Luca would have required to hurl a string of insults at some poor, unfortunate soul.

The general layout of Orichon, however, was simple and straightforward enough. With the dining hall set firmly in the middle, everything else faced and surrounded it along the basalt walls - sparring arena, kitchen, armory, and a rather large storeroom with an odd collection of furniture and items he was warned from fiddling around with.

At present, Miklos was seated at a table situated by the side of the sparring arena, feeling somewhat. . . lonesome. Awkward. Unsettled. Leo and the others had made an abrupt beeline towards the guild's kitchen after depositing him there, grumbling about something regarding 'meal duties' and that 'Balthazar will have our hides' should they fail to turn up in a timely fashion. Except for a few individuals who had let curiosity get the better of them, no one else approached Miklos, and he was well-aware of the reason: the habitual scowl etched on his face designed to ward off unnecessary attention was also a deterrent to people with the best of intentions.

Although, he wouldn't have minded company.

Worrying at the last remnants of his venom wounds with a finger, he found himself unable to shake off a persistent feeling of disorientation and confusion that had been weighing on his mind ever since he assumed the identity of the dead boy. A pertinent question remained unanswered; an identity left unclaimed. Outside, the lightning storm shook and jarred his thoughts with every bestial rumble, making it difficult to think - and he was already feeling jumpy enough.

So far, Miklos had been successful at restraining from glancing out the arch window to his right, blissfully ignorant of the carnage that the storm had been cooking up. When he finally did, half out of curiosity and the other half - sheer compulsiveness - all he could manage was a poor attempt at trying his utmost best not to gawk like a fool.

Roughly three miles away where the plains morphed into dense jungles, black clouds overhead were pulled forcefully apart. A thick column of water broke through, slamming down onto the earth and obliterating most of what had been thriving there mere moments ago. Where it hit the ground, gusts of wind blasted outwards and sent trees within a ten meter radius reeling back.

Miklos felt his heart pound in his chest. Surely, Orichon must have a shrine dedicated to Byrus, the god of calamity and disaster. That was the least they could do to cope with such atrocious weather hazards, even if it meant pouring their faiths into a deity to salvage hope where there was none.

He supposed.

"Rather frightening, isn't it?"

Miklos jumped, whipping his head away from the window. His pale-grey eyes focused on a man, possibly in his forties, who now sat facing him. Silence ensued as the man studied him with mute interest; eyes twinkling in amusement. For the third time that day, Miklos shifted uncomfortably where he sat.