Umbral Rune (Rough Draft)

Umbral Rune: Chapter 4 - Witch of Belza Hill

[Skell]

"Y-you're... a skeleton!?" asked the indigo-haired woman.

Oliver rose right as I did, untouched by the magic. "Stop! Please don't hurt him!"

"Hurt him?" Cynthine eyed Oliver strangely, lowering her shoulders. "And why would I do such a thing?"

"Y-you shot a blast of wind at me!" I argued, slipping behind the couch in a hasty attempt to find safety. "Don't act so confused!"

Cynthine scoffed, adjusting her hoop earrings. "Gust is a harmless art, performed solely to reveal the face you so clearly wanted to remain hidden. And..." she studied me, "what a face it is."

This is about the worst way she could've learned my identity. Revealing I was undead was supposed to come at the end, after she was already on board, not the beginning. But... she's not mad? Or scared?

"You're... calmer than we expected," I watched her carefully, still in a partial state of fight-or-flight.

She folded her arms. "What, did you believe I'd start slinging fire blasts and wind blades at you?" She glanced down at her emerald gown. "Last I checked, I wasn't wearing Templar armor."

"But I thought everyone hated the undead," I asked. "Templar or otherwise."

"Hm," Cynthine thought a moment. "I'll admit, most would want you destroyed. Some would even take satisfaction in slaying you themselves. But that would be the people of Lumerit, who have reason to. I'm not Lumeritan. In fact, you could say I'm from many lands away, and compared to the acquaintances I've made between there and here, a talking skeleton is simply middling on the peculiarity scale."

Just middling!?

"T-that's good to hear..." I trailed.

"Don't misunderstand me," Cynthine continued. "I've never once been shackled by chains or locked in a cell, and I'd rather not be privileged with the experience. Your presence is a problem. If we are simply seen together and your identity as undead is discovered, fingers will quickly point to me as well. That can't occur. You need to leave."

I froze. "But-"

She shook her head. "Leave, skeleton. Now."

Figuring out my next move felt impossible. Cynthine was almost certainly the glamour mage, but her will was ironclad. If glamour magic was illegal, finding another practitioner would be an aimless search at best, and that was if I didn't slip up, become exposed, and get killed in the process.

Cynthine's face turned grave, though it carried a tinge of reluctance. "I'm sorry, but if you don't leave, I'll have to force you out." With one wrist crossing the other, she entered an intimidating stance. Whatever art came next, it'd be far from harmless.

"Miss Cynthine," Oliver called, "Ansel will be very upset with you!"

The glamour mage and I both faced Oliver, who we momentarily disregarded. Without even touching his bow, he seemed to strike at Cynthine's heart.

Her stance dropped. "Ansel... how do you know of him?"

"My name is Oliver Morgen," he put a hand to his chest. "I'm his grandson."

Cynthine looked dazed. She found and sat at the couch's armrest, staring at nothing in particular. "You're one of his grandchildren? Truly? I never thought I'd meet you."

"You know me?" Oliver asked. "Until the other day, grandpa never mentioned you once. Um, but I reckon he had a really good reason!"

The glamour mage smiled and turned to Oliver, focus reentering her eyes. "There's no need to stand at Ansel's defense; I've been long accustomed to his... shall we say, behavior. But yes, the old man's visited me once a year, every year. We'd catch up, though his side of matters tended to consist of hunting trips, new monsters that tickled his fancy, or beautiful vistas he'd found in the woods. Of course, that all paled in comparison to how much he spoke of his grandchildren."