Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11: FALL FROM GRACE

As it was, the man was pretty bitter.

Late afternoon that day, he made arrangements with an amateur jeweller to melt the crown. The stress would be placed on the word 'amateur' because the lad was not only late to the trade-meeting, but also had the audacity to swindle twenty percent of the profit for himself.

If that weren't enough, the pawner was also caught red-handed leaving his house in the dead of the night. His wife spat on his face and accused him of infidelity. It left him crestfallen and galled. After all, his criminality was provoked by the fantasy of dressing his spouse in Neolandian silks and exotic stones.

Everything he did was for her.

So, naturally, when the broker fled into the quiet village, he was spewing steam from his ears - completely prepared to raise fists with anyone that intervened with his plans. Of course, the baselard he wore was merely an accessory. He did not expect or have any intention of crossing swords with anyone that night. Yet, upon hearing an ear-splitting bang followed by three distinct fretful voices - the pawner instinctively drew his weapon.

At first, he listened. He listened to every frequency that hovered in the air. He listened to the silence between the breaths and shrieking floorboards as weights shifted on them. It was not long before he recognized that he was dealing with thick-skulled children. Yet, the realization did not abate his wrathfulness. In fact, suspecting that it would be the smith's boy and the albino from earlier that day, he quickly became exasperated until the vein in his forehead protruded. But he was still uncertain of who the last child was. They sounded mature and grounded. It felt like the pawner was supposed to know who the voice belonged to, but even upon close observation, the identity was unclear. "Who's there?!" The man called with a booming voice.

The children muted themselves instantly, much to his disliking. But he assumed that would be the reaction. Groaning to himself, the bald and brawny man cocked his chest and began to stomp steadily through the storage room. But not too long after, the pawner stopped dead in his tracks. The draft of wind that travelled through the corridor cautioned him of the ill-omen that cursed the shop. But greed seemed to have struck him a better offer - for the man had more regard for the Queen's jewel than he did his own life. He carried down the pathway - this time a little more gutless that he was before.

Meanwhile, you were still there - dishevelled and wary with knees drawn to your chest. Even though your guardian had made an appearance, you were still quaking. Even your eyes were reluctant to open. You knew your guide would eventually come and relieve you of the escalating situation. But the doubts of 'what if's left you inevitably diseased with sheer horror and panic. To be fair, you weren't being overdramatic. When your protector liked to emerge only at the climax of an altercation - how else were you supposed to act? 'But better late than never,' you supposed.

"Breathe deeply."

You jolted at the command as it hauled you out of your daze. You had nearly forgotten the entity's presence. When you finally escaped your prudence, you allowed the words to invade your anatomy. As you surrendered to your guardian's bidding, you quickly noted that it was the closest you had ever reached nirvana. Every limb, muscle and vein in your body seemed to have relaxed - as though your soul had been exhumed from the burdens of the material world.

And soon enough, you were no longer you.

"Center yourself."

Instead, you became a vessel. A vessel that lost its capability to fail, suffer and experience solitude.

"Vocem meam uocare-"