New Set of Eyes

Ty'Bral frowned. It was a strange sight, seeing the facsimile mask crack and curve.

"You keep gaining power at this rate, and you won't live long enough to fight Y'Trix."

Goleil looked at him, his head tilted. "What are you talking about? Shouldn't more power be good and make it harder to kill me?"

"Normally, yes. But you can't defend yourself against your own stupidity. Well, I can, but you don't have that amount of control or skill. To your credit, you haven't killed anyone yet. But if you keep this up, you'll kill yourself and everyone around you."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Of course it is! Even if you limit yourself to one vial a day, and the minimum amount of power you gain is that of a Third Circle Half-Step Eldritch, you will possess enough raw mana to wipe out a city by the time you depart for the mountains."

Goleil felt a rush of energy, almost rocketing off his bed in excitement before the full ramifications of what Ty'Bral had just said slammed him back down again.

"I need control, and badly. But you said it's basically a guarantee that I will screw up my first time. Should I just limit my locraf intake?"

Ty'Bral nodded as he looked around the scantly decorated room. "That would be for the best, gather one each day but keep it in a pouch or something. Speaking of which, you need a bag or something because you can't keep carrying everything in your hands."

Ty'Bral glanced at the Perennial Band and sighed. "And then there is that thing. It still over doubles your sen. It really is a miracle artifact."

Goleil nodded as he held it up to the candlelight. "It is. Hopefully, I don't have to use it. I should thank Tyria because Lord Commander Colm would never have given it to me."

"I wouldn't say that. He seemed keen on it once he saw your growing power, and he probably would've given it to you later. However, it could save your life on this upcoming trip, so thank Lady Colm regardless."

"I wonder where she is."

Ty'Bral paced around the room. "I don't really care. How do you stay sane in such a tight space? This is making me crazy."

Goleil chuckled. "I'm talking to an imaginary demon that no one else can see. I'm already insane."

Ty'Bral grinned. "I suppose so. We really should get out of here, though. I propose the training grounds, for you must regain your reputation with the City Guard."

Goleil nodded and began to transmute his cloak. "That seems only right."

Ty'Bral scoffed. "Of course it is. If you are to use this place as the beginning of your new empire, the first step is to gain reputation with the soldiers."

A cold breeze hit Goleil as he walked out of the quiet Guardhouse. 'If I were not Goleil, I'd wish I was like Ty'Bral, that imaginary bastard.'

"If I were not Ty'Bral, I'd also wish to be Ty'Bral." The Eldritch said.

Goleil wouldn't dignify that with a response.

His thoughts grew quiet as he trudged through the grey snow.

Glancing around, it occurred to him for the first time just how poor the outskirts of Redvale truly were.

While he had the luxury of bundling up in a greatcloak, the houses here were barely better than wooden frames with paper for walls.

The wind whistled through the numerous holes in the planks.

He passed many an alley, each full of people huddled together under a single worn-out blanket. Ice formed around them as he saw their withered bodies shiver from the biting cold.

A tiny voice whispered in his mind, "I could help them."

Goleil shook his head. 'How, exactly? I have nothing to give them, no money, not even extra clothing.'

The voice fell silent.

Ty'Bral looked at him strangely. He couldn't hear the tiny voice before, but he could now. What he wondered was, where was the voice coming from?

Ty'Bral decided the answer would come in the future and said, "Your religion is war, is it not? The weak have no place on the battlefield."

Goleil looked to the ground as he recalled his words. Why did he feel shame?

He kept his gaze in front of him as he walked. He felt eyes on his back, hopeful and malicious, but both were too afraid to approach.

"My Lord, please, any spare coins?" A voice whispered from an alley beside him. He glanced at the one who had spoken.

It was an old woman, her body more a skin sack of bones than anything human. She wore nothing but rags. He could see the fear in her eyes of him. His eyes were intimidating enough for any ordinary man, but she was desperate.

Her desperation was evident in her stooped posture. Tightly embraced in her arms was a little boy no older than five. She had swaddled him in many clothing, and yet he still shivered.

The tiny voice in his mind spoke again. "I can help them."

Goleil shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything."

He walked away but glanced into the alleyway behind the woman before he left. There, a man huddled, arms wrapped tightly around two tiny children, all skin and bones from malnourishment.

'What could I possibly do to help?' Goleil thought.

As he left the outer district, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Goleil! Where are you headed?"

The sun knight looked behind him and saw Rick coming up the road from within a different district on the outskirts.

"The Praetorian Training Grounds," Goleil said. "You live in the outskirts?"

Rick smiled a little. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not. Your presence is welcome; since the last time I was in the training grounds, I caused a bit of a fuss."

Rick chuckled but didn't comment.

The wind picked up as the two hugged their greatcloaks closer.

Rick sighed. "I live in the outskirts and care for my grandmother there. I have the money to move, but no one will accept it. They laugh in my face and throw me out. They don't want my dirty poor man coin," He spat, venom in his voice.

Goleil was taken aback. "Why wouldn't they want to take your coin?"

Rick's brows furrowed. "I grew up in the slums, and it was only by some miracle I made it into the City Guard. They see me as a pity project but still a dirt poor commoner." Rick glanced at Goleil. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to overstep our boundaries, but I thought you might be able to understand."

Goleil narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Rick raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't notice it? The suspicion they all treat you with, the caution?"

Goleil looked around as they walked over the paving stones. At some point, they must have changed from dirt.

For the first time, he noticed how even when he made eye contact with them, the people here made no attempt at hiding their mistrust of him—the outright hostility.

"I... never noticed."

Ty'Bral scoffed. "More like you didn't care."

'And I do now?'

"Not necessarily," Ty'Bral replied.

Rick sighed as he looked at Goleil, but his eyes widened after a second.

"Did you somehow grow bigger since I last saw you in the Blood Crypt?"

Goleil looked at himself. Rick was correct. While he hadn't grown taller, his muscles were far larger and more defined. He hadn't regained his previous physique, but he was well on his way.

"It must have been the locraf," Goleil said.

"If only!" Rick said as he held up his own arm. They were surprisingly thick but not as large as one would expect.

"Perhaps I'm simply stronger than you."

Rick chuckled. "Well, we already knew that."

As they arrived at the Praetorian Training Grounds, Goleil took a deep breath and transmuted his greatcloak to his normal one.

Rick patted his back. "Don't overthink it. While they might all be lazy and unmotivated, they don't hold a grudge for too long. It should be fine if you apologize."

Goleil nodded and walked in the door.

As soon as he entered, all eyes were cast on him.

He looked around. They all looked back at him with a mixture of fear and suspicion, like he might attack them at any second.

Goleil took another deep breath and said, "I would like to apologize to all of you. I lost control of my power, and you all took the brunt of the damage. Please, forgive me."

He bowed deeply to them.