Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 31: TRADER'S OATH

You learned that there are these things called clocks - spelt with a c and k.

According to Uzner, they could tell time. You didn't quite understand the use for such a device when the movements of the sun could mark every moment of a man's life. But, sitting in the opulent lounge for - lord knows how long - with nothing but the company of your brother and the flurried attendant, it felt like the clock was flirting with you. It's archaic engravings, birch-wood trunk, and steady clicks called to you somehow.

"So . . ." The forger cleared his throat, twisting his lips in discomfort. "What do you do . . . as the gatekeeper?"

The auburn-haired man gulped loudly. You could literally feel his jitters even though you were across the room. But, you were in your own little world - wondering if the arms of the clock would stir faster if you stayed extremely still. "Well . . . I, uh . . . keep the gate? And I, uh-"

Before the male could finish, and before you officially popped your cork, a willowy figure shouldered through the skillfully-hewn doors, lulling everyone - even the jabbering outside the room - to silence. It was comical, you thought. All of you were cemented to your spots, gawking owlishly at one another. The woman, however, took her time examining you. At some point, she quirked a brow - in place of what should have been a shrug - and headed towards the study in the corner of the lounge. As she discarded her frayed coat and sordid shawl, you realized she was unlike any noble you knew of. Her sable hair was a crime of its own - disarray and unruly in its uncommitted bun. Her attire was mossy, smelt like damp earth, and was ostensibly one size too large for her stature.

You figured she was a maid. And to confirm, you glanced over at your brother who bared his teeth in an uneasy smile. After a painfully long minute of watching her unpack the journals and charts from her satchel, you decided to rise to your feet and address her. But as you pried your lips to speak, the woman had already turned to you with knuckles on her hip. Once again, before you could shut your trap, she waved her hand.

"Nie, you first-" she murmured, perching against her desk. Her sorrel eyes teemed with idle curiosity.

"Uh, well - thank you . . ." You spluttered. Seeing the forger's nod of encouragement in your peripheral view, you straightened your spine. "My name is (Y/n). And this is my brother, Uzner-"

"Brother?"

You weren't sure how to answer her. Luckily, Uzner read through the woman's impatience. "More like a foster brother."

"Hmm, fair . . ." she hummed, crossing her hands behind her back. With that, she sauntered in a large circle around you, inspecting your form like you were a prized commodity. It gave you an eerie reminder of your time with the blackmarket. "Where are you from?"

"Katolis."

"And what business do you have in Orlion?"

"We're here to see Count Yamir."

As if it were slotted in, the woman came to an abrupt halt in front of you. She glanced towards the gatekeeper, who seemed to have darkened the majority of his uniform with his nervous sweat, and then to you. " . . . Why is that?"

"Because . . . he's my father."

The female, struck with the century's vilest epiphany, jolted back. Then, a corpse-like stillness befell her.

Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.

"You're Yamir's child?"

You nodded hesitantly.