Raos was starting to fancy Clarica. Perhaps the city's charm allured him, but as he swirled the wine inside of his glass, he began to wonder if it was this splendid creation that seized his interest. He had never tasted anything that trumped an art's blood, but as he sipped some wine, he couldn't help but tilt his head back in ecstasy.

The southerner, Micael Hammik or Hammock or whatever, dropped Raos off in front of this thing these Luxians called a tavern. After loitering around it for some hours, he decided to enter. And bless the Lords of Infernum, it was the best decision he ever made. He found this wine, experienced this euphoria, and acquired a new companion from the streets: a rat he named after his delightful friend Rufalik.

As Raos lifted his glass to drink more wine, Rufalik scurried across the table. Raos tugged him back by his tail. "You can't leave yet, my friend. You have an important role you must fulfill."

Rufalik squirmed, and Raos sipped more wine when the doors of the tavern suddenly burst open. Passing through the wooden threshold entered a familiar face: the girl he saw in the slums the other night.

He watched her stride towards a burly man seated across the room, heard her ask, "Have you seen a male who is a little taller than me, has brown hair, and wears a green pendant around his neck?"

Wine spurted from the corners of Raos's mouth. His chokes joined the other sounds in the raucous room, and Rufalik grabbed this opportunity to escape. That little vermin jumped off the table, and Raos threw himself on the ground just to capture him. When wine bottles shattered against the wooden planks, the noise attracted the girl's attention. And bloody bones of Daetunos, her hollow eyes were intimidating.

Stifling his coughs and giving Rufalik a tight squeeze, Raos kindly waved, but the girl didn't return the gesture. Instead, she flicked her head back towards the burly man at the table, the waves of her vermilion hair resting on her shoulders.

"No," the burly man said. "You have to be more specific."

But she disregarded his last remarks to ask the next table and the next, and Raos fixed his gaze on her until she stood before him, her arms crossed.

A linen tunic stretched beneath the leather vambraces strapped on her forearms, and a sword with a cracked pommel hung loosely on a black belt secured around her waist. An intricate design of a flower pressed onto the leather caught Raos's attention for a moment before the girl said, "Do you—"

"Know a male who is a little taller than you, has brown hair, and wears a green pendant around his neck?" Raos said, chuckling mindlessly, and oh, she was not amused. "I assume he is hiding in fear of death."

Those menacing eyes narrowed, and her crossed arms tensed. Murder beamed off her demeanor, but Raos couldn't find the rationality to care. Twirling Rufalik's tail around his finger, Raos laughed and leaned in to take another sip of wine when the girl slapped the glass out of his hand. It shattered across the floor, tiny shards bouncing on the wooden planks. As silence overtook the boisterous tavern, the rationality to care slipped into Raos's mind.

"That was my wine," he gritted out.

"And that was my glass!" the barkeeper shrieked. "You better pay for that, girl!"

"What do you know?" she demanded, the barkeeper's words clearly eluding her ears. Bracing her hands on the table and leaning closer, she glared at Raos with numbing eyes. "I am not in the mood to be amused by your antics."

The floaty haze clouding Raos's mind dissipated into wrath. He felt his miasma dimming the room, shadows enveloping the aging tables. All eyes were on them, and Rufalik squealed before going limp, his body spasming, his nose twitching, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. But breaking through Raos's anger, there was a warmth soothing him, giving him a different pleasure from the wine. It mollified his crackling rage until he saw—felt—Rufalik dying, felt his heart slowing. It reminded Raos of the Reapers, the darkness, the pain. . .

His miasma faded, and light overtook the tavern. Rufalik was up and about, endeavoring to escape once more before Raos gently tugged him back. The wine's effects crashed down on Raos as he forced a smile and playfully smacked the girl's shoulder. "We have a lot to catch up on don't we, old friend," he said. "Say, would you mind ordering another wine? I must declare it is the finest I have had since my visit to Umbra."

Everyone immediately found something better to stare at, and conversation filled the tavern again as confusion lit the girl's face.

"Come now!" Raos exclaimed, pulling out the chair beside him. "Time is wasting!"

Raising her brow, the girl reluctantly sat in the chair across from Raos. She pushed some empty wine bottles to the side and remained silent, studying Raos skeptically.

"I don't bite," Raos said, teasing, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his legs. The buzzing happiness returned but not as strong as before. "So you were looking for—what—a male?"

"Tall, brown-haired, light elemental, and has a green pendant hanging on his neck," said the girl.

"You didn't mention he was a light elemental before."

"I seemed to have forgotten."

Raos smiled mischievously. "Is he an enemy? A friend? Family? Or perhaps"—he wiggled his brows—"a lost lover?"

Her eyes darkened. "I already warned you not to mess with me."

"Ah." Raos smirked. "A nemesis is he?"

Silence.

"You must despise him an extensive amount if you are hunting him down like prey."

More silence.

"Very cryptic," he mused, enjoying the dance he thrust himself into a little too much.

The girl huffed. "Just tell me what you know."

"And what would I benefit in exchange?"

She tilted her head, humming. "Perhaps I'll let you walk out of here alive."

Raos's mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. "So you do have a sense of humor."

"I wasn't being funny."

Staring at the girl for a long moment, Raos cackled, his mind going fuzzy again. No one except Calistair could amuse him to this extent. "I am very fond of you, redhead," he said, resting his cheek in his palm. "So I will tell you where you can find this male you are searching for, and then we can part ways."

Staring at the girl, Raos felt that familiar yet unfamiliar peculiarity he sensed when he first laid eyes on her. Since he was closer, he felt something warming his body like heat from a furnace. It soothed him far more than the high the wine gave him and made him too docile for his liking. In its own right, it was awfully unsettling.

"Follow the forest east of the statue of King Luxias in the main markets. When you reach its northern end, climb a tree. The gray cliff you see is where the boy is."

She creased her brow. "How many—"

"I speak the truth. I don't believe I can deceive you even if I desire." Raos was threading his fingers in Rufalik's fur as the girl sighed, massaging her head. She stood to leave when Raos added, "Oh, and do you know how to shoot an arrow?"

She turned around. "What?"

"Shoot an arrow," Raos said matter-of-factly, pretending he was pulling the quiver of a bow. "You'll need it."

Clenching her teeth, the girl stormed off into the bustling streets of Clarica, the tavern doors swaying before another group barged through them. Raos frowned, tapping his finger over the oak tabletop.

"And she leaves without a 'thank you.' Typical ingrate," he mumbled. Preparing to leave himself, he stretched his cramped limbs and shook his head to clear it of the wine's haze when knuckles rapped on wood.

"Are you going to pay?" the barkeeper asked, fury lacing his voice.

Glancing at the glass shards that still littered the floor and the wine bottles resting on the table, Raos shrugged and lifted Rufalik by his tail. Smiling, he said, "A token from the streets." He was amused when the barkeeper's fury transformed into bewilderment as Raos's slit eyes suffused with red.

* * *

Two couldn't believe she was actually listening to that insane drunkard, but after days of searching for her mysterious witness, his claim was the only lead she had. So after barging out of the tavern, she immediately strode towards the direction of the main markets, shoving past passersby who shot her nasty looks. But she didn't care. She wasted enough time already.

The sun was setting, and night had already begun its ascension, devouring the last gleams of sun and spitting out rugged darkness that shied away from the torchlight. Merchants relentlessly waved their ware at the growing night crowds, drawing some customers that blocked Two's already congested way.

Bursting through the swarming throng, she stood before the marble statue of Luxias. There were numerous statues of him around Lux, and this one depicted him riding a white tiger. She studied him, his mask, before turning east and strolling through the markets once more.

It was a pain, especially since the night crowds were expanding and those obnoxious merchants were still screaming at the top of their lungs, but she managed to push through. When she reached the outskirts, there was a forest stretching left and right as far as her eyes could see. It extended uphill, so she trekked to the northern precipice, where she saw Clarica in all its glory.

Bright lights from the markets shone in the darkness like the dazzling stars in the sky, and over another hill, Two saw the tip of the mighty castle. It flaunted the legacy of the Lux with its shining gold that made her stomach churn. While people died of hunger in the south, the king and the nobles basked in luxury and wealth. It was revolting, and it drove her to continue her search for the witness.

She climbed the tallest tree she could find, branches and twigs scraping her skin and only infuriating her more as she hauled herself up with all her might. Rough bark chafed her palms, and amid all the pain, she felt chills running through her blood, numbing her wounds—the work of her plant element.

Faestuna must be merciful, she thought. But of all the times she desperately needed to heal, why now when she was climbing a goddamn tree? It was these small moments that made her hate the Gods for their incessant mockery.

After pulling herself over a sturdy branch, she crouched and surveyed Clarica. Branches and leaves from the surrounding trees obstructed her vision, but looking straight ahead, she found the supposed gray cliff.

Time seemed to slow as she blinked at the gray castle walls. The Gods hated her, always spited her, but what was this? How could her luck be this horrible? Shaking her head, she laughed. She couldn't help herself as she stared at the gray castle walls, at the lights from the markets, at Clarica, at the sword. The sword. . .

Her fingers grazed the cracked pommel of her witness's sword she had retrieved after her little chat with Adrian. And at the thought of Adrian, she massaged the back of her neck, laughing all the more.

Oh, Gods. That rendezvous at Lumina would have to wait.