Void Walker

Chapter Four: The Healer, and The Dead

Great. What do you want from me? was his immediate thought.

He stared at the man wearily. Under normal circumstances, one would have been offended by Miklos's slightly-less-than-hostile expression. However, the stranger only smiled kindly at him, and a feeling of warmth settled over Miklos. He softened a little.

"I don't suppose you'd like to know why we have such bizarre weather here? Though, that will be in lesson two."

Miklos wanted to say no, not really. Instead, he settled for a "Maybe,-"

"-sir," he instinctively added upon noticing the man's distinct attire. Smooth, elegant cobalt-blue robes covered an athletic build, tightened at the waist with an ornate leather belt and with a thin cloak draped over the shoulders. Miklos was well-acquainted with the concept of nobility, and he recognized status when he saw one - even in the Wildlands.

The man laughed - a hearty, genuine gesture that made taut the laugh lines which were partially concealed by the fuzz of his clean-cut beard.

"Well, alright. Could you perhaps tell me your name then?"

"Miklos. . . sir."

"Miklos," the man affirmed. "Who brought you here?"

"Luca-"

"-Reionne and Krea?" he finished for him. For a moment, Miklos thought he saw pride flash across his face.

"Reionne?" he raised a brow. Understanding dawned. "Oh, Rei."

"I did give her that name myself, but you'll never catch her using it." The man sighed.

Miklos was caught by surprise. "She's your - I mean, are you Rei's father?" As far as he could tell, they bore not even the slightest physical resemblance to one another.

"Why, no." He smiled, waving the notion aside with a hand. One finger was adorned with a silver ring, although no engravings of any sort could be perceived. Just a plain old band of metal.

"Speaking of which-," The man peered at Miklos. "-where are they?"

"Rei's at the infirmary, sir."

"Hmm. Venom burns, I presume?' He must have inferred as much from the fading wounds on Miklos's face. "And the others?"

"Uh, I don't know where they are."

"That's alright," he reassured. "Could I have you do me a favor, Miklos?"

No, not really.

"Yes, sir."

"I'd like to have a word with the four of you and preferably before dinner, so please fetch them for me."

"I will, sir," Miklos nodded half-heartedly. He got up to go.

"Wait one moment, child." The man chuckled. "I wasn't quite done."

Miklos let himself fall back onto the bench. What now? he groaned inwardly, before it occurred to him that he still hadn't a clue who the stranger was. He thought to ask for a name, but the man was already speaking.

"There is one thing of great importance that a mage ought to know by pure instinct alone. Can you tell me what that is?"

For a while, Miklos stared at the man dumbly.

Then, something snagged within him, and comprehension surfaced. He felt a keen, familiar sense of awareness deep in his gut that weighed like baggage whenever the use of magic was involved, and acted as a firm reminder of the limitations of a mage's capabilities. Even as he spoke the words that followed, a mixture of trepidation and uneasiness clammed around Miklos's chest. It was an inevitable fear that plagued the hearts of his kind as much as it was a primal instinct that kept them aware - and alive.