Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today was lucky. No one was by the bakery window as Damien passed. The window was open as goods sat to cool. Now, Damien knew better than to steal the goods themselves, but if he reached in and took an apple from a bowl then no one should notice.

He also knew how to not push his luck, and made himself scarce. 

It was sunset, so he could actually walk along the main roads, and not take out of the way back alley paths. Not like it was any good though, going through so much effort to scurry around and being unseen. Everyone was aware of his presence. Not like they did anything about it though. Damien knew he was a pest at best to most people. That's just how the pecking order went.

Damien ducked into an alley. This one he knew especially well. All the boxes stayed in place because no one else had any particular need or want to get rid of them. It made it easier to get up onto the roof. He held the apple in his teeth and climbed up. The rough texture bit into his hands, but he was sitting soon enough. 

He had only taken a few bites from his apple when he watched a carriage pass by on the main road. Well that was interesting. The carriage itself was far more extravagant than anything the locals would have owned. 

Even more interesting was that a few minutes later another one arrived. At this point Damien was invested. What could all these high class wagons be doing here? It would be a waste if he didn't find out. Nothing wrong with some snooping.

Damien made his way down back onto the streets. He tossed the apple core into the side of the streety. He didn't take the main road now, as there are a great many things he would rather do than catch the attention of some fancy merchant. 

A few more carriages went by, and Damien followed their direction all the way to the mayor’s estate. Well, well, looks like someone is having a party. There were many overpriced decorated boxes on wheels lined up in front, working men untied the fine bred horses and took them to the back stables. 

Damien found this was his very lucky day, he would have to keep his eye on the weather the coming weeks. Rich people and parties meant opulent waste. Damien figured that if there was a time to push his luck, this would be it.

When the sun was fully down, the carriages stopped showing up, and the help had cleared out, Damien made his way over to the lined up mystery boxes. Most of the doors were locked, but nothing was stopping him from taking some of the supplies from the back storage and the coachman seats. Damien came up with horse oats, maintenance tools, and some rations for the travel.

Damien was digging through one of the coachmen’s benches when the front door of the estate opened. Damien froze, and then turned around as there was no immediate call for guards. Looking back at him was the head housekeeper of the estate. Damien shrunk back into the seat a bit.

“Hey Rowena….” he said.

“Boy, If you know what’s good for you, you will put back everything” She said in a voice that wasn't as stern as it was chiding. 

“It's not like they will miss anything” Damien said as he slid out of the coachman’s seat.

She sighed, “this is an important event for Selstor, lots of people with power here”

Damien didn’t need to be told that part. He had eyes, and people with power had money, and money can be seen. Plus most people had more power than him, it wasn’t something that was hard to do.

“Yeah well,” Damien tugged his sleeve over the black mark on his wrist, “i know how to stay within my limits”

Rowena said “he has been anxious about this for a long time, he has a lot riding on this. If anything goes wrong…that and some of the guests are more rigid than he has been with you. If it's between bailing you or impressing them…”

Damien got the message. If he pushes one too many buttons, Selstor might actually have his head this time. So much for being a just mayor, though Damien couldn’t blame him for climbing the ladders he could in the ways he could.

Damien said, “alright, alright, I'll put everything back. I like having a head”

“You don't act like it”

“Hush”

Damien started putting all his hard earned goods back, Rowena watched. She eventually sighed and went back in. Damien knew she was only soft on him because he was somewhat close to her son’s age. Isn't he getting married to the baker's daughter? Ah, when you spend your days out of sight, you hear things.

With his nightly plans ruined, Damien decided to visit the stables, the straw might be nice to lounge in for a bit, so the night won't be a total waste. 

The stables were warmer than the unobstructed night air, and there were horses. Pretty fancy horses. Damien walked down the stalls while looking at each one. A grey speckled horse stuck its head out as Damien walked past.

“Why hello there,” Damien said.

He pet the Muzzle of the beautiful creature.

“Sorry, I don't have any oats, I would’ve, but I head to put them back”

The horse seemed to be content with just the head scratches. Maybe this night wasn’t so bad.

Damien felt his wrist start to ache, that ache started to spread through all his nerves. Ah shit, not now…

He backed away from the horse and held his wrist, that mark was glowing. Why now of all times? Did he touch something weird from one of the carriages? Either way there wasn't much he could do about it now before-

Pandemonium. Absolute pandemonium. Vines grew rapidly in the stables, they tore through wood planks and along walls with a mind of their own. The whole structure rattled. Spooked horses whinnied and reared. The temperature dropped enough to make frost in some places, in others it got so hot metal started to faintly glow. Safe to say, with the compromised structural integrity the horses broke out. Damien barely made it out before one of the stall walls came down. Just his luck… but maybe no one noticed?

People swarmed outside quickly. Ah well, Damien wasn’t an optimist for a reason. He was just about to scram out of there when a vine very helpfully grabbed onto his ankle.

“Damn weeds” Damien cursed.

He tried stomping on it with his other foot. That wasn't doing much. The guard was rushing over. He was running out of time. He crouched down to start pulling at the vine. Why was it so hard to tear? Fucking magic…

Damien was pulled up by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt in no time at all. The barley-better-than-mercenaries-who-called-themselves-law guard did not look at all surprised to see him at the center of all this. 

Following not far behind was the mayor, and not far behind him a large group of people in colorful clothes with far too many bits and pieces. Selstor looked absolutely pissed.

“What in the good heavens-” he spotted Damien as he finally stopped, “oh, it's you. Of course it’s you.”

Damien didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented. The rest of the crowd caught up, and Damien adjusted his sleeves again. 

The mayor turned around to the crowd, he put on his very best ‘pleasing a bunch of entitled rich people’ face.

“I am terribly sorry for this interruption” He said, “It seems a local troublemaker caused some horses to get loose, but don’t worry. They will all be gathered while the soiree goes on.”

Damien didn’t want to spend another night in a cell, but life had a funny way of disagreeing with him. It wasn’t so bad though, Selstor wanted this dealt with fast and with as little drama as possible. So chances are Damien would just have to spend a month or so in jail and then help build a new stable. 

A man walked out from the crowd and stood next to the mayor, though his eyes were on the scene. 

“Is everything alright? I assure you that we will find your steeds, and this Hellion will be properly punished” Selstor placated.

The man didn’t say anything for a moment. Damien watched as he took in every detail of the ruined stable. The Vines that held up what didn't fall, the frost that came up just as spotty as the burns, nothing seemed to evade his gaze. 

Everyone seemed to be watching him as well. The man had a cane with silver detailings, but was young looking. His clothing was also fine, but not outlandish. Someone who had wealth and wore it like a badge was still the kind of person Damien needed to be cautious around, But someone who subtly weaved it around themselves like it was the most natural thing, that was someone with power that didn't need to be shouted. That was someone who needed the utmost caution from someone like Damien.

From his attire, the way he carried himself, and others' reactions, Damien guessed he was a guest of honor of sorts, or at least someone everyone here was trying to make a network with. Perhaps that's why Selstor was so invested in this one party. And of course this had to be the one Damien fucked up.

“That seems like a bit more damage than one would expect from a single hellion” the man said, his tone was casual.

“Yes well, it's an old stable, and who knows what he did-” Damien cringed internally at the mayor's mistake.

“An old stable? Are you telling me it collapsed like this because it was already deteriorating? And that you knew it was in bad shape when you put my mares in there?”

“No,” Selstor was starting to sweat, “I would never. It would have been fine if-”

“ So it was in good condition?”

“Of course-”

“Then why did it crumble from one ruffian?”

“It could have been a week spot”

“Do you mean to tell me you could have had this improperly built?”

“I wouldn't-”

“Mr Selstor, was or wasn’t the stable in good, sound, condition?”

“It was,” Selstor conceded.

Damien could hardly blame him after the verbal steamroll he just witnessed. The poor guy never stood a chance.

Fuck, now the guy was looking at him. Damien fought the urge to pull down his sleeves. He was held in place by the guards and the vine that had stilled sometime after creeping up his calf. He knew that this guy was sizing him up, just as Damien had just done. Though there wasn't much to Damien. Unkempt hair that was long overdue for a cut, clothes that only had the pattern of patches and stitching. Bandages made their debuts under some tears in the clothing that had yet to be attended to. Nothing more than some scrap from the street, nothing less. That's really all there was to Damien.

Except he knew, he didn't know how, but he just knew that this man saw more.

“Yes, that’s just the local riff raff, he is known for trouble” Selstor said.

Damien appreciated the attempted save, if nothing else. Even if it was just Selstor trying to cover his own skin.

The man said, “That so?” 

He walked closer. The guard that held Damien by the back of his shirt tightened his grip, not like he could go anywhere anyway though.

Damien spotted someone else moving closer as well. Dressed indiscreetly, a woman with a sword left the crowd and joined the guards. She must have been a private soldier of the man’s, or that was Damien’s guess. He was starting to dislike how many guesses he was making tonight.

“You don’t look like you could topple a stable,” the man said, or asked, it was hard to tell.

“Looks are deceiving” Damien bit back.

“that they are,” the man said.

He was looking directly at Damien, an experience he was not used to from people of that high class. The woman came in and took over for the guard restraining Damien. It didn't hit him why until she was already rolling up his sleeve.

“Would you look at that,” The man said, utterly unsurprised, “a witch”

Damien's blood froze before the crowd even had a chance to gasp. 

Selstor of course started working to ease the situation, “my goodness, a full blooded witch? I had no idea”

The man did not spare him a glance.

“I'll have my guard take care of this immediately, we can't have this danger wandering around, now can we?” The man said before the crowd could get in too much of a frenzy.

Damien figured if he started to struggle, or protested a little too loudly, then the woman currently restraining him would either break something or…well no one would complain if witch blood was spilled.

“That won't be necessary,” Selstor started, “there is no need to burden yourself with this, count Vimund, I can deal with one witch”

It was a count, fuck. That wasn’t good at all.

“Wont you be busy looking for the horses?” Vimund said, “Besides, with my ties to the sun order I can get this dealt with far more simply”

Oh this was just getting better and better. Damien threw out the possible escape plans for holding cells he was forming. If this count could really contact the sun order that quickly, then Damien was in for so much worse. All the scenarios he could think of had bad endings. If he wanted out of this he would have to escape while they were moving him.

Selstor didn’t say anything. Mostly because refusing anymore at this point could possibly raise suspicions with the guests. He wasn’t at a total loss for brains when it came to self preservation.

“I think it's best if everyone considers this matter dealt with.” The count now spoke to the crowd, “The mayor will find your steeds soon enough, no point in letting a small incident interrupt such a good time”

Damien could try and trigger his magic while on the move. Sure he had no way of knowing what it would do, but if it didn't snare his ankle then he could use the moment to get away. Though if the magic was uncooperative, which it was prone to be, he would have to find another distraction. Something told him that he wouldn’t be able to beat the count’s guard in a head on fight.

The murmuring crowd began to disperse back inside, though no doubt they were watching through the windows. Fancy rich people had a tendency to be nosy. 

Selstor watched them leave for a moment or so. His eyes eventually looked back not to the count, but Damien. He held his gaze for a moment.

“I believe you have horses to find and guests to ease” count Vimund said.

Selstor replied, “of course, it will be handled right away.”

And like that Selstor left to organize some servants to go horse finding. Damien couldn’t rely on the mayor this time. Selstor had gotten him out of several situations relatively unscathed, but that wasn’t a failsafe he could count on right now.

The count started to walk away as well, but not to the party. His path looked like it led to the front of the estate. The woman restraining Damien let go. Either these two were very confident in their abilities to deal with a witch, or they knew Damien was as dangerous as any average street ruffian. Both options did not bode well for Damien.

The woman crochet down and pulled off the vine that was steadily working its way up Damien’s leg. Damien took the moment to pull his sleeve back down, as little good as that did him now. 

Despite being free, his feet felt like lead. He could sprint into the forest, or maybe go the other way and steal one of the horses they were starting to gather. What if he ran and attacked the count from behind? The guard might let him go if the count’s life is threatened. But that's assuming they will play fair. Chances are they won't if things escalate that far.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pushed him forward.

“Walk”

She seemed to be a rather stoic type, granted Damien doesn’t know what he would say in her situation.

Either way Damien stepped forward. He just needed an opportunity to present itself. Or the chance to make an opportunity. But for now he took step after step closer to the carriage.

Chapter Text

The carriage was a lavish thing. Something that one would expect a count to use. Damien remembered singling this one out when he was looking for good targets. Of course he ended up returning everything when Rowena caught him though, so hopefully the owner of said carriage won't notice. Though he doubts it could make his situation any worse.

 After the count had unlocked the carriage door, he left to go wait for his horses to be found, and probably get the coachman as well. The guard stayed with Damien, after all Damien figured he was basically under arrest. And as nonchalant as the pair were about the whole witch thing, no one would be idiotic enough to leave a captive unattended. 

 Damien forced himself to take a steady breath. Panicking would get him nowhere. He glanced around the carriage interior, trying not to make it obvious what he was doing. Though he doubted it really mattered that much. 

 What the interior lacked in decor it made up with quality of materials. The cushions were pleated with diamond shapes. The fabric of the seats were nice as well. The wood had a fine lacquer, and he was tempted to see if the seats had compartments. The woman keeping an eye on him wasn't likely to let him snoop around that openly though.

Damien turned his attention to the windows of the carriage. They might be easy enough to break through if he was willing to take some cuts. Which given the circumstances, he very much was. Maybe he could wait until they were on the road, kick the guard, roll out the window, and make a run for it.

It only took a moment of thought for even Damien to realize how ridiculous that plan was.

The curtains were of an odd fabric choice though. They were thick and black. Quite bold statement pieces actually, considering most carriages opted for a light and flowy look. At the top of the frame was a decorative star shape. Damien wouldn't put it past someone of the count’s status to choose an odd theme, they always try and one up each other in niches. 

Outside the window was still perfectly calm. It was dark under the light of a crescent moon. The only light outside came from the lit up manor and the servants out looking for horses with lanterns.

Damien pulled on his sleeve. He could run into the forest and no one could find. He would just have to keep moving to the other side of the woods and avoid all the lights. He could see where plain grass gave way to trees. It was cruelly close. 

He could wait until they were moving, and the guard relaxed, then attempt to break out. He would be harder to chase after. Then he could make it to the tree line. Then he would be ok. But they weren’t moving right now, they didn't have horses.

As much as he promised to wait for a good chance, he hated the wait. He had no idea if a chance would present itself at all. Was he wasting time? Should he have made a break for it sooner? What if he inadvertently doomed himself. His sleeve didn’t feel long enough.

He looked over at the guard woman. He should at least use the still moment to try and get a better read from her. After all, she would be his biggest obstacle. The count had resources, sure, but would only become an issue after he ran. Though if he made it far enough the count may not even bother. Which meant that the woman sitting next to him was the one to worry about.

She was on the tall end, but not outstandingly so. She didn’t react much, but her gaze rarely drifted away from what she was doing. This whole time she either looked at the count or Damien. Damien wouldn’t have evaluated her so openly before, but her amber gaze looked out the windows. She was focused on the area outside of the carriage, perhaps the manor? It didn’t matter too much. Damien was lucky to get the chance. If he kept it to quick glances then she shouldn’t notice.

Her hair was short, cut just past her ears. The slight texture her hair had gave it volume, as well as a somewhat wild look. She didn’t seem the type who put too much thought into looks. Damien guessed the length could be because of her work. After all, having your hair pulled hurts. But even worse, if someone is pulling your hair, they have control of your head. Having shorter hair makes it harder to grab.

She had a scar that ran down in a jagged line across her tan skin. It made its home from the middle of her left cheek down to her neck, stopping shortly. A scar either means that she was bad at her job, or she had experience in rough situations. 

Damon knew he probably wasn’t lucky enough for the first one to be true. Plus, it was best to assume the worst. That way his plans wouldn’t have unnecessary hiccups, they had plenty of those without any added underestimation. 

Her clothing was plain and simple. It's likely she dressed so discreetly because of the soiree. Though with a closer up look, the dark fabric was quite thick. It wouldn’t be surprising if there was some leather underneath the other layer. Her hands were gloved. It didn’t look like there were any weapons on her, but Damien had no way to check for sure. She could have any number of things hidden in her sleeves or boots.

She was hard to read over all. But Damien got the idea that getting away from her was going to be the hard part. Women working as any sort of fighter was highly unusual. So either this one was a special case, or exceptionally skilled. Damien didn’t like where the clues were pointing to.

It just meant the worst case scenario got just a tad worse, nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Well that’s a lie, he had never been this close to facing the sun order before. He supposed the actual worst case possible would be being in the clutches of the sun order. A grim fate for anyone who dared to be born with witch marks.

His thoughts started to drift. Magic would be helpful in this situation, but he had no idea how to use it. He tried to call it purposefully a few times when he was younger, a naive boy. It either outright failed, or he would get caught and was punished harshly. It was for his own good though, if he was caught by anyone else doing magic his fate would have been sealed. It didn’t take long for his mother to get the message across.

It took even less time for him to lose naivety. He wonders who he would be if he got to hold onto wonder just a little longer.

Damien couldn’t let himself zone out. He needed to stay focused. He was in a carriage with a not at all scary woman who was there to stop him from leaving. The count intended to turn him over to the sun order. He needed to stay vigilant. 

Damien’s internal pep talk was interrupted by the door opening.

The Count had returned, that meant the horses were found. Which naturally meant that they would be leaving soon.

Damien watched the door as it closed. He would have a better chance on the road. He just had to keep telling himself that and be patient. He couldn’t rush this. The fabric between his fingers reminded him.

The count had taken his seat across from Damien, and with that the guard had turned her attention back to the interior of the carriage. That would make things just a little harder, which made them a lot harder actually. 

He really didn’t like how calm both of these people were, it rubbed him the wrong way. But that isn’t a detail he should focus on. Their temperament could be due to any number of things, trying to figure out exactly why with no clues would be pointless.

“Now we can be on our way then, “ said the count as he settled down, “would have been quicker if someone hadn’t wrecked the stable”

Damien was glad he could make this process at least a little annoying for the untouchable count.

“You look seconds away from jumping ship” The count commented.

Was Damien that obvious? And why couldn’t the count just ignore him for the rest of the time. Damien couldn’t get a read on him without being obvious.

“He’s been squirming the whole time” The guard said as she shifted her weight to be more centered.

The carriage started moving with a little bump before smoothing out at a steady pace. Damien watched the Manor move past the window view. Just a little longer and they would be out of town, just a little longer and he would be in the best position to break out. It almost didn’t matter that the guard had been paying attention to him after all.

“After that encounter, it's to be expected” The count set his dress cane down to lean against the seat.

Well obviously, they were taking him to the sun order, of course Damien was going to be antsy. What else did they expect? Who could stay calm in that situation.

“It's annoying,” the guard commented with her dry tone.

“Is there anything out there that doesn’t annoy you” The count replied

The guard merely huffed as a response.

The pair seemed close, if they could have casual conversation. Though it felt weird being present for it. 

“What’s your name?” 

The question pulled Damien from watching familiar roof tops pass by. What was the point in the count asking that? What game was this man playing? Maybe it was just for paper work when they got there.

He decided to answer, “Damien.”

It was a common enough name, he wouldn’t have to fake it.

“Well Damien, what is a witch doing out here” The count leaned in from where he was sitting.

Damien kept his voice steady “Same thing anyone is”

“Realy? Witches are quite rare in these parts, im sure you know”

“Im very aware”

“Then why didn’t you leave?”

“Do I look like I have money for traveling supplies?”

“Fair enough” The count leaned back.

So was this the game? Was Damien going to be questioned the whole way there before he was going to be questioned and tortured? That seemed unfair. This all felt so incredibly unfair. At this rate Damien was going to work a hole into his sleeve.

“You seem tense”

What the fuck

Damien gripped the arm of the seat, “Of course im fucking tense, what the hell did you expect!”

The count seemed a little taken aback, a lot taken aback actually. It didn’t matter, it was dark out. Damien would break out 5 minutes into the tree line and wouldn't be found again. He didn’t owe these people decency.

The count looked at his guard, “did you not tell him?”

“I thought he knew,” She shrugged.

The count looked briefly at the top of the window before a blink set his gaze back onto Damien.

“Did you not know?” he asked

Damien had no idea what was going on, “know what?”

The count leaned back and sighed, “that explains some things”

“You are not going to the sun order” he said.

Damien didn’t know what to say, “what”

“we,” he gestured to himself and the guard,”are part of the midnight stance.”

“What's the midnight stance?” Damine let go of the armrest.

The count seemed to take the question like a physical blow, “you are a witch and you don't know what the midnight stance is”

“No”

“Oh this is going to be so much more work than I thought it was going to be.”

The guard joined with a helpful, “I told you so”

“Not now” The count waved her off before going into the explanation, “The midnight stance was created in opposition to the sun order, our goal is to keep creatures blessed by the night out of the sun orders hands.”

Damien wasn’t quite sure how to process this. “So…where are you taking me?”

‘Yes, about that” The count straightened in his seat, “we have been needing a witch and, well the events tonight had just played in our favor.”

“What do you need a witch for, and why should I help you?”

“Magic, the main reason. As I said before, witches are rare in this region” the count explained, “and if you help us, then we can protect you from the sun order, as well as giving you adequate pay.”

This could all very well be a trick to make him feel more secure. But damn did having a paycheck sound nice.

“I won't use magic,” Damien said.

“I- what?”

“I don't know how to use it, and im not keen on figuring out how”

The guard snickered, “Oh this just keeps getting better and better”

The count regathered himself, “we will cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Seems more like your plan is falling apart” the guard looked back out the window.

“Do you see any other candidates around here!” The count snapped at her.

Damien vaguely felt like he was being insulted.

The count quickly returned to normal, “just rest for now, it's late for you isn't it? I can explain things in more detail once we are at my estate.”

Once the prospect of a threat faded, Damien did feel a little tired. Falling asleep surrounded by strangers who may or may not have interest in your harm didn’t sound very appealing though. Granted he was a light sleeper, it might be ok. 

It was maybe a few more minutes of listening to the banter between the count and the guard before Damien's increasing need to sleep took over. He was only human after all, and his mind was exhausted.

He couldn't believe he was betting his life for the sake of a nap.

Chapter Text

Light reflected off of waxy tree leaves and made everything so much more vibrant. Gold flowed in between limestone bricks like veins. A city with gleaming and tall buildings that would always stand strong behind their walls. It had matching waterways of clear and sparkling water that flowed into troughs. Even the sky remained cloudless to the sun behold what man had done in its name.

Damien should have seen this coming. He must have been an idiot.

It took him only a moment to start running the other way. Why had he let himself believe for even a moment, he knows how this goes. Especially for someone like him.

The earth passed by a pressureless blur beneath him. But his legs felt heavy, most likely groggy from sleep.

He saw them and their golden helmets. The armor they kept covered by cream cloth embroidered with the holy phoenix in gold thread. Their necks were ordained by the sun on a fine chain.

Tried and true witch hunters.

Trees passed him by in the midnight forest. He didn’t feel breathless, only heavy. It was like the earth wanted to take him in, pull him close to hear its whisper. It knew he could hear it. Perhaps laying down and letting it take him would be a better fate.

He could hear them behind him. The soundless steps echoed between every tree and were whispered by shrubs.

Damien found a familiar building and hid inside, he couldn’t run forever after all. He went to the second bedroom of the cluttered home. 

This room was wrong.

Shadows were patchy, it was both warm and cold, and just being here made his wrists ache. 

He looked over to the dresser and saw a sleek black snake laying on it. The snake looked up at him and saw a fool and a coward.

It slithered up to him. He should move. He didn’t move. It curled around his wrist, the action felt like it should have hurt. It moved up his arm and rested on his shoulder. 

It flicked its tongue at his ear and whispered in a speaking level voice.

“Why did you try”

It pressed its face into the mark on the side of his neck.

Then there was a presence behind him, one he didn't have to turn to see. She was imposing and silent, cold and unmoving.

The priestess of rebirth took his wrist and pulled him out of the door into the cells underneath the golden city. 

She was so out of place in such a dark place. Her red hair decorated with gold, the rings on her fingers mirror polished. Her robes all neatly done. Just looking at her face obscured in light made his wrists burn.

She made perfect sense in this place.

“I tried to help you. You are helpless”

She pressed Damien through the bars, and left after he was in. There was no door. The hunters were soon to come.

Darkness began soaking into the cell, and small vines inched up the bars.

“You can’t hide it”

“But I don't want it” It didn’t feel like Damien's mouth.

“And you are damned for it”

The snake plucked off one of its own scales and set it in his palm. It took up most of the center, and the edge was sharp.

Damien held it between his fingers.

“Chew fox”

Damien dragged the scale through the mark on his wrist. It felt vaguely numb.

“Chew”

He dug the scale under his skin using the new opening. His arm felt numb. Blood spilled out of the corners, akin to tears from an eye.

“Chew”

He pressed the scale forward. He could see skin being lifted from everything else. Veins snapped at the stretch. More pressure and the tip of the scale reappeared on the other side of his mark. He pressed further and it came clean through the other side.

“Chew”

Even when it was a bloody mess, the scale didn't slip. Damien only slid in the scale edge, and worked around the mark on the sealed edges. He couldn’t feel his arm any more. The mark was still visible through the thick layer of blood.

“Chew”

He finished separating the remaining skin and veins from the mark. Now it was just a barely connected circle on his flesh. He changed his grip on the scale and pinched the patch. He pulled it off from the little remaining connective tissue.

The gaping hole in his wrist weeped crimson. The flesh inside pulsed with maggots and puss. Even through the bloody window, the mark read clear.

The snake laughed at him

“Hey,” the guard said in her usual tone.

The carriage was surprisingly good at keeping out the early light, Probably because of the curtain choice

Damien sat up in the solid yet surprisingly plush chair. The count was gone from sight entirely. The guard was standing outside of the open carriage door. Her expression held the same amount of patience as it had yesterday.

Behind her stood a building that was somehow even fancier than the mayor’s manor. Honestly, what did they even need all that space for? One could fit at least 7 or so family homes in the area, or at least Damien thought so, and it would be a better use of the space.

“Are you just going to keep sitting there?” She took a step back from the door.

“Just tired,” Damien stood up.

His legs felt like lead, and his back was sore. Damien hardly felt well rested.

Still he stepped out of the carriage into the foggy morning. The horses had already been taken away. In fact it seemed the last thing that needed doing was taking Damien out of the carriage. They probably just didn’t bother until they had to. 

The guard said no further words as she walked to the front door. The implications were simple enough.

Damien followed her on the dirt path to the front steps of the estate. Along the path were unkept bushes with dying leaves. It would have been an extravagant garden with color coordinated flowers in the front, but it didn’t look like anyone was taking care of it. Such a shame really.

The building itself was in better condition. A few steps lead up to an overhead area at the entrance. The sleek black stone that made up the whole place gleamed in the distilled light of the morning. The grand palladian window at the front held dark drawn curtains behind it, making the inside a mystery. All of the windows had their curtains drawn, actually. All except the decorative lunette window above the front door. Perhaps the count was keen on protecting his furniture. 

It was only natural that the front door itself was just as opulent. The double subtly red doors were of a fine make. In the middle between them that same symbol from the carriage was carved, with each door getting one half. It was much more detailed than the one from the carriage, though. The base shape was a diamond. In the middle was a 7 pointed star whose points reached outside of the boundary. The arms of the star had their middles carved out, kind of like the divot of a petal but at a sharper angle. In the center of the star was some sort of stone. The ends of the star had matching inlays. Any void of space that the diamond shape still held was filled with a scale texture. 

The guard opened the door with a turn of her key. There was something tense about her, though that could be because she was on duty. Damien followed her into the entry hall. The entry way flooring was a dark wood. A long rug laid out along the hall.

She turned around to close the door and re-lock it. It was very dim inside the building, the only light came in from overflowing around the curtains. In fact it took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he was seeing clearly soon enough.

The guard took the lead again. Damien followed her through many halls and doors. The walls displayed colorful paintings of various nature scenes. Though their effect was diminished in the low light of the estate, they still got the point across. 

“Asriath,” She said out of the blue.

Damien, having no idea what she was talking about, said “what.”

She sounded vaguely annoyed that he didn’t get it right away, “Count Vimund told me that you should know my name.”

“Ok,” Damien didn't know how else to respond to that.

She was like a brick wall, and Damien was starting to get the impression that she didn’t like him at all. 

The guard led him to a bigger room, what looked like a kitchen and pantry. 

“He wanted you to have breakfast before you made any deal.” She explained.

Damien looked around. The shelves were well stocked, the cabinets probably were too. He wondered if this was common courtesy or a bargaining trick. Either way he took the closest option, which happened to be an apple in a basket.

The feeling of his teeth biting into the fruit reminded him of countless merchant stalls. How he would slip by just a little closer than necessary while someone else was haggling. Every so often he would get caught, especially if he did it more frequently. But when he did get away with it, the taste of a summer warmed apple on one of his roof spots would be the highlight of his day. 

Damien threw away the apple core. 

The guard didn’t get anything for herself. Probably because she took her job so seriously. But really what could Damien do if she ate for a moment. Its not like he was armed.

“You’re done?” She asked as if it wasn’t clear.

“Yeah,” Damien turned to her.

“Only an apple?” The guard looked him over.

Damien never took kindly to being scrutinized “Is that an issue?”

“If you are bound to be of any help at all, you should have a better diet,” She made her way to the door.

Damien followed behind, “ I haven't signed up for anything just yet,”

“You should after all the trouble we went through.”

“The trouble of randomly coming across me?”

“Count Vimund shouldn’t have made a move so publicly, but you left us little other choice, causing so much trouble.”

“Well it's not like I asked for that. And it seems like the count’s problem if things backfire on him.”

“If things turn on him because of you, I will make it your problem.”

She definitely didn’t like Damien.

She went on, “I don't know why he is even taking the gamble on a witch with no training. We would be better off going farther out to find anyone else.”

Damien looked at the paintings as they passed him by, “and you think the gamble is pointless?”

She turned her head only enough to give him a sharp gaze, “I think this gamble will pay off worse than that.”

Damien tugged on his sleeve, at least one other person agreed with him on how this would all play out, “If you are so sure, why bring me in at all? You aren't happy about me being here and you could have just kicked me out yourself,”

“Because I was ordered to bring you,” She said simply.

“So you do whatever he says?”

She didn’t respond to that one.

Damien tried another, “Most dogs I know aren't nearly that loyal.”

Her steps stopped for a short moment, and then she was fully turned around, “excuse me?” her voice was soaked in insult.

Damien didn’t expect to strike a nerve that easily, “dogs, guardsmen, housecarls, a particularly well paid mercenary, all the same thing really."

“You are so very lucky I'm not supposed to harm you,” She said, turning around and walking again.

Soon enough he was brought to a door. Like most things in this place, it was almost ordinary on the surface. But when one took a closer look, every detail was finely crafted.

“Head on in, don’t be stupid anymore than you have been,” she was already walking away before she finished the sentence.

Damien briefly considered going off and doing something else just to piss her off, but decided he should probably meet with the count. Damien was rather curious as to what was going on around here. 

So he grabbed the handle, and opened the door.

Chapter Text

The office had even less natural light than the other rooms. Instead, candlelight flickered in a dance along the walls and shelves. The books that made said shelves home lacked any trace of dust. 

When Damien closed the door, a pair of icy eyes lifted from papers on the desk to him. Gloved hands straightened the papers splayed out on the desk and set them aside in a stack before returning in front of their owner.

The count didn’t hurry in speaking, “good morning.”

“Hard to even tell from in here” Damien didn’t move further into the room quite yet.

“Yes well, that’s what clocks are for, no?”

“I didn’t know you had one.”

“I have a pocket watch, most days I have a rather tight schedule,”

Damien didn’t like meaningless small talk. This was somehow worse. There was something under the conversation, like the count was testing him.

The count gestured to the wooden chair on the other side of the desk.

Damien sat down. It was almost funny, this count bothering to pretend they were equals. That would go away once he got what he wanted. Damien was sure of it.

“Now that you’ve had a chance to calm down from that…misunderstanding, I believe it's time to explain some things,” The count gave nothing away in his expression.

Damien didn’t like how the count didn’t avoid looking at him.

“First of all, “ The count started, "I'm sure you are familiar with the sun order.”

Of course the count thought him an idiot, "I'm not that clueless, of course I do.”

“Right. As I said before, the midnight stance exists in opposition to the sun order, where they seek to destroy, we aim to preserve.”

Now that tugged at Damien’s attention.

“Our goal is to protect the creatures blessed by Unliar from being whipped out.”

Damien hadn’t met anyone willing to say that name in a long time. Even longer since someone said it without any venom, or a tone that indicated it as an insult.

Unliar, patron of the night and its monsters. The counterpart to Helic, patron of day and its creatures. To be under Unliar’s domain was the fastest way to get on the sun order’s extermination list. That would be ghouls, spirits, cursed ones, and naturally witches as well.

Damien wadded up the fabric of his sleeve while his hand rested in his lap, out of the count’s view.

“So you, what exactly?” Damien asked, “break trolls out of their holds?”

The count chuckled, Damien hated the light sound, “No, not anything nearly so bold, oh we could never. No, we work much more subtly. We look for signs of a night creature, and find them before the sun order does. Take care of whatever needs to be done so they are not discovered.”

“Doesnt seem very stance-y.”

“Little steps,” The count sighed, “ or at least that will be your job. We are working on other things as well, but that falls under my responsibilities,”

Damien leaned back in his seat, “So, you want me to go out and do all the dirty work?”

“Not how I would put it,” The count clasped his hands together on the fine desk, “More like, you are doing the field work.”

“Right,” Damien crossed his arms, “and what do I get out of this?”

“A good question,” The count looked away from Damien for the first time this meeting, “you will be paid of course, room and board, and protection from the sun order to the best of our ability.”

Damn that was good.

The count pulled out a few papers and set them in front of Damien, “This is the official contract, read over it for as long as you wish,”

Damien knew how read enough to get the vague idea of most things. The first page seemed to repeat all the information the count had already told him. The second page did the same. However, on the second page there was a number. An obscenely large number that should not have been near the word “salary”.

When he was old enough, he would take odd jobs around town. No one was keen on hiring a known thief and trouble maker, but sometimes he would get lucky and someone needed something done on short notice. They never paid well, but money was money and he didn’t often have opportunities to come across it.

This salary wouldn’t make him wealthy, but it would make him comfortable.

WIth the room and board being covered, it wouldn’t take him long to save up. Maybe a handful of years and he could start a new life somewhere far away from here. He could start up an isolated farm somewhere, with working dogs and horses. He would sell his crop to local markets and buy from traveling merchants. He wouldn’t need to think about the sun order or his marks or any of this bullshit.

The third page was harder. It had information that the count didn’t talk about, and it didn’t use common terms Damien was used to seeing on notice boards.

“You shouldn’t skim it,” The count helpfully advised.

Granted to anyone watching it did look like Damien was skimming though, really he was just looking for any recognizable words and guessing the sentence. 

Damien didn’t want to admit anything, but also figured knowing what he was agreeing to is important.

“I'm a fast reader,” he lied casually.

Literacy was a tool that nobles could use against commoners. Either by changing the wording around on written deals, putting a clause that would inevitably be fallen into, or just straight up lying, All things that can be done when they know someone could be taken advantage of.

There is not a chance in hell Damien would let the count get any more of an advantage than he has.

Damien set the page back on the desk, “I have a few questions though.”

Frosty eyes that were somehow warm looked at the moving paper before gliding back to Damien, “of course, ask away.”

Damien sat up straight, “What are you getting out of this?”

The count started, “Well we are always looking for more help in-”

Damien cut him off, “No, not that. I mean the whole ‘midnight stance’ deal. Someone in your position has a whole lot to lose if the sun order finds out what you are doing. Why risk it? Every noble I've seen is actively trying to get in cozy with them”

“Another very good question,” The count’s expression shifted subtly.

This whole time the count held the same smile, but now there was something tense behind it.

The count went on, “But I don’t think it's a good idea to answer it just yet,”

“Why not?” That hardly felt fair.

“You don't want to dive in too deep before you are even involved yet, do you?” The count looked at the papers, “and besides, with no official agreement, what is to stop you from selling that information to the nearest priest of Helic in an attempt to get in good with the sun order?”

Damien did not appreciate that comment, “Do I look that fucking stupid to you? They would take the information and send me to the witch hunters on a silver platter.”

“Im taking a risk with this, you know,” The count looked back at Damien, “a witch is less likely to say anything to them. But there is still a chance. And there are only so many details I can give you before you are on board.”

Damien crossed his arms again, “seems shady.”

“Its a secret organization, naturally it’s going to look shady.”

This guy sure knew how to be a stone wall when he wanted to.

Damien moved on for now, “I still won’t use magic,”

“You can learn,” countered the count.

“That’s not the issue,”

The count sighed, “Magic will be a useful tool for you, if you work for us, its best you learn to use it.”

Damien felt his wrist burn, “I’d rather not,”

“It’s necessary for the job.”

Damien got the hint that he was just going to get more and more firm with this.

“I doubt it's something I can learn quickly,” Damien tried a new angle.

“I have someone in mind who can catch you up well enough,” The count shut that down.

Damien moved on from yet another dead end, “will I be working alone?”

“Sometimes, but definitely not for your first few assignments,” The count actually answered, “Asraith and you will work together for some time.”

“I see,” great .

“Anything else?”

Damien leaned back in the wooden chair, “No, that's all.”

“Then I think we have covered just about everything,” the count settled, “are you ready to make your choice?”

“I am, yeah”

As much as just thinking about magic made Damien want to itch off the mark on his wrist, he couldn’t start a farm and have horses without any money. He also probably shouldn’t sign a contract he couldn’t read all the terms of.

“I’ll sign the papers,” He said.

“Great, though this isn’t that kind of contract,” The count pulled something from the desk.

What he set next to the papers had the shape of an ink well, but it had no lid or opening. Instead it had a shallow divot at the top.

“What is that?”

“For this kind of business, normal signing won't suffice. Besides if this contract is ever found, it won't have your name this way” the count yet again avoided an answer.

Damien persisted, “that doesn’t explain what that is.”

“Its used to sign binding contracts. A simple magic tool, really. To put it simply, it will prevent you or I from breaking the terms.”

“Prevent how?” Damien was becoming less sure of his answer.

“There are lots of different ways it can, but for this contract it will just be a little uncomfortable to break the lesser terms, and will stop you from breaking the significant ones,”

“Like, physically unable to break them?”

“That’s right.”

Well that was great. At least the count would be bound by it too. 

Damien thought about what kind of fences should line the pasture, “How does it work?”

“Are you squeamish?” Not the follow up question anyone wanted to hear.

“Not particularly.”

“It’s simple, press any finger down on it, there is a needle that will give a little prick. Then stamp it here.” The count pointed out a spot on the paper.

Damien wondered if he should get a sheep pasture when he felt the cool and smooth material that the top was made from. When he started pressing down he was wondering what he should grow. It didn’t hurt when the needle jabbed in, especially since he was prepared for it.

He pulled his hand back and pinched below the small wound to get the blood going. The count flinched and looked away when a droplet rolled out.

Huh, he must have been the squeamish one.

Damien pressed his finger into the page for a few seconds, ignoring how his wrist screamed for attention. A red fingerprint was left behind, and his finger had mostly stopped bleeding. 

He didn’t feel like any magic had been done. Maybe it didn’t do anything after all? 

The count seemed satisfied enough. He took the papers back and added them to the pile on the corner of his desk.

“Welcome to the team,” The count went back to what he was doing before, “Asraith show you the room you will be staying in”

Damien would rather not, “I’m pretty sure I can find it on my own.”

The count looked up for a moment, “very well, third level, second hall, fourth door to the right,”

The count looked back down at his work, and Damien didn’t bother to say anything as he left. 

It took some wandering, but he eventually found the room the count was talking about. It was pretty out of the way, which Damien saw as a plus. It felt like this section would have housed plenty of guests. Damien hadn’t seen anyone else in the estate though, not even a maid of some kind.

The room itself was nicer than anything he had before. The bed in the corner had a full set of sheets. There was a dresser, a nightstand, even a rug. Damien walked over to the curtain to open it up, avoiding glancing at the mirror hanging up

Light spilled into the quiet space and covered everything in a glowing wash. The view outside was nice. The only thing around the place were woods, woods, and forest with some dirt roads. Below was the back garden, which looked just as abandoned as the front flowers. 

A bird landed close by on a treebranch, and looked around in the jittery way birds do. 

Damien slowly opened the window and rested his arms on the base. He whistled at the bird before it flew away. Shame. Maybe he should build some bird houses on the farm.

He couldn’t get a good read on the count. He was still everything any noble was, but he couldn't rely on that description alone.

When he first encountered the count, the man had taken complete control of the situation in a short exchange. Granted it wasn’t exactly difficult to get one up on Selstor. The mayor was always eager to climb the closest ladder. The point still stands that he lost horrifically at the battle of quiet implications, and the count was fully unblemished and uncompromising. 

That’s the reason Damien backed down when he hid a dead end with questions. The confusing part is why he was given any leeway at all. Damien could assume that the count was trying to get his guard down, but he didn’t necessarily have to do that to get Damien to agree. What was this guy’s end goal? What was his angle?

Why was he so different during this meeting? Not pushy at all, patient, it didn’t make any sense. He had that smile on the whole time. It was almost annoying.

Damien didn’t trust him one bit, no more than he wanted to be around the guard.

There was one part he really didn’t get though.

He closed and backed away from the window. The mirror was looking at him when he turned.

He looked like a mess. He was dirty. His hair was tangled. His clothing was old and worn. He used bandages to cover his marks. He was pitiful, and everyone who looked at him reflected it. Just a glance and most people knew he was beneath them and acted accordingly. Even the golden eyes in the mirror looked back at him like that.

So why did the count’s eyes hold no such thing?

Chapter Text

Damien didn’t spend long in his new room, as he didn’t have much of a reason either. Sure, it was nice to have some space of his own. It was certainly more cozy than anything he had before. But he had nothing to put in there, and nothing to do. 

He figured his time would be better spent somewhere else for now. The mansion had to have something to do. It was still annoying how dark the place was, but Damien figured the curtains were like that for a reason and left them be. He didn’t want to piss off his new employer just yet. 

The layout of this place was simple enough to get a hold of. When the guard showed him around before, well more like dragged him to the places she was supposed to take him, he got a pretty good look around for the bottom floor. 

The third floor seemed to be living spaces. Guest bedrooms, lounging spaces, Damien even came across a decently sized library room. It didn’t have much to offer him though, so he moved on. 

He noticed a few discrete doors here and there. Giving into curiosity and opening one led to a narrow passageway, probably servant corridors. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t run into anyone yet. Though the chance of not seeing a single housekeeper with all the wondering he had been doing is low at best. 

But nothing was dusty, and there weren’t any cobwebs. So someone must be cleaning this place. And with how much space there was, it would have to be multiple people. 

It wasn’t the most useful thing to ponder, though, so Damien switched his focus to the corridor itself. It would also be a good idea to acquaint himself with the subtle passages at some point. They are designed to be out of the way, and a good way to move around in an inconspicuous manner. 

But for now he should learn the basic layout before he adds hidden always to his internal map.

The second floor was more business focused. Damien came across a few locked doors and storage rooms, but other than that there was nothing of particular note.

Damien got a pretty good look at the bottom floor before, so he didn’t look around as much. The space was dominated by big open spaces, likely meant for gatherings. 

What he was most interested in was what he saw from his room. 

It took some time to find the back door, especially when the windows were covered, but it was easy enough to tell what they were when Damien did come across them. They matched the front door in structure with an arched top. They were made of the same dark wood. The mark on the front doors was missing from this pair, however. 

It was so bright outside with the approaching noon. The scent of fall was hinted at in the breeze, Damien was sure of it. He figured himself decent enough at figuring out when the cold season was about to set in. 

Late fall and winter held some of his least favorite memories after all. They only made his life that much harder. 

It was strange thinking about how he wouldn’t need to worry about them as much this year, even if he was still stuck in worrying about it. 

The back garden was as pitiful up close as it was from afar, if not more so. The flowerbeds were full of weeds to the point he wasn’t sure if there were even flowers in there anymore. The stones that lined each section were mossy and had grass shooting out from the crevices. As Damien walked along the barley there path, he even found spots where he couldn’t see the stones at all. It was a shame and a waste of good space.

It also pissed Damien off, why bother with a garden if you aren't even going to hire anyone to take care of it. There could have even been a section to grow some ingredients for the estate, instead of buying all the food from markets. Which is how Damien assumed they filled up the pantry.

Honestly it was so inefficient. With how deep in the forest this place was, it would take forever to get to the nearest town and back. Damien had to guess that the land Count two-face owned was larger than the mansion. It would be such a simple matter to hire enough people to take care of a small farm. 

It was insulting how inefficient the count was with his money, if Damien’s salary was anything to go off of. Whatever, it wasn’t his fault if the count was bad at getting good value out of his coin.

His train of thought broke when one of the wild bushes rustled. 

Damien went and squatted down by the shrub to get a better look. The movement stopped. Then a small sniffling nose poked out.

Damien picked a nearby clover and held it just out of reach.

The nose quickly ducked back in.

Damien kept his hand steady, and eventually the nose poked back out. It only took a few more moments for the rabbit to stick its whole head out. It’s head was turned so one of those large expressionless eyes was on Damien.

When he made no sudden movements to catch the rabbit, it hopped out and took the clover. The stem disappeared in a steady line as the garden reaper pulled it in with small quick bites. 

Damien grabbed another to feed the foul beast. It had grey and brown fur that speckled all over. Its ears stood straight up, alert even while it grazed. That little pink nose twitched constantly.

The garden really must be abandoned if this little guy was here.

Damien stood up and stretched, sending the bunny dashing back into the underbrush. The sun was high, and it was probably time for lunch. That and he was hungry, with access to a whole pantry.

The way back was quicker than the way out, weird how that always happens.

The dining room was quite large. He glanced past it before, but now with a good chance to look he could see just how opulent it was. It would be a good spot to host a feast with local nobility.

The wooden chairs were cushioned, with symmetrical patterns carved onto their backs. The long table was set with a white cloth that had a red stripe running down the middle. This room also held paintings of scenes, unlike the more nature focused halls.

He wasn’t here for this room though, and he went further back to the kitchen.

Given his luck, the guard woman was also there eating a meal, some kind of soup it looked like. Damien looked over at the stove and saw a pot sitting on top of it. 

“Did you make something?” He asked.

“Do I look like a cook to you,” she shot.

Damien went over to the stove and the guard went back to ignoring him. He just wanted to see if it was up for grabs or not. Given how she kept ignoring him, Damien figured it was. 

It didn’t take much looking around to grab a wooden bowl and fill it up. He sat down on the opposite end of the small kitchen table from the guard. 

She looked up and looked like she was going to complain, but then was interrupted by a different topic to chastise Damien about, “You’re still walking around like that?”

“What’s wrong with how I'm walking around,”

“You have eyes, right?”

“I didn’t take you for someone vain,”

“It’s called being halfway decent,”

“Well, excuse me for not bringing a change of clothes.”

“You are covered in dirt, go bathe before you track it all over the place”

The realization that he actually had access to a reliable way to get clean had just dawned on him.

“I plan on seeing the stables after lunch.”

“What, so you can break ours too? You look like you live in the stable, we are taking care of that right away,”

Damn, “I just grabbed something to eat.”

The guard looked down at her own still mostly full bowl and conceded, “ Fine, after we eat then.”

Damien really wanted to see the horses, but conceded at the compromise.

After they finished eating, the guard practically threw a basin at him that held a cloth and some soap. It was nothing fancy, the kind of thing most households had. But it got the job done.

It was surprisingly relaxing actually. After Damien brought the stuff to his room, as well as filled the basin, he took his time. He was used to the occasional amenities when he could afford it. Though the owners of Inns or bathhouses weren't keen on renting out their basins all by themselves. 

The soap didn’t have any particular scent to it. Damien figured it made sense that guard would hold out on the good stuff on him. It’s not like he cared that much about such a silly thing anyway.

Cool water on his arms was more than enough for him.

He found a semi functional one once. It was leaky past a point, and so could only hold shallow water. But he could still use it for the most part. 

They really were more like glorified buckets though. Even the one Damien had used in his room was just slightly larger than an average one. He still wouldn’t be able to soak in it, but he could dunk his whole head. Which he ended up doing to clean his face.

It was strange seeing himself without some sort of dirt smudged on his skin. He was tempted to use the mirror, but a glance at his scarred torso dashed away that idea. He couldn’t quite scrub away those. His ribs showed more than he would have liked as well. There was no point looking at what he knew would disappoint him.

When he ran his fingers through his hair, they didn’t. He met resistance about an inch and a half down. That was an issue, but an issue he didn’t feel like facing right now.

The new clothes fit well enough. Damien assumed the human equivalent of a spear had pulled some from the empty servant quarters. They were simple, not the highest quality, but they didn’t have holes. He still had to use bandages to cover the witch marks on his neck, but that’s a problem he was used to.

He went to dump the murky water outside, and ran into that way to serious guard shortly after he did so.

“Glad to see you aren't disgracing these halls anymore,” She said in lieu of a greeting.

Damien shot back, "Your presence isn’t exactly what I would call gracing either.”

She made a vague scoffing sound before she found something to nit pick.

“Did you even bother to brush your hair?”

“I didn’t exactly have a comb.”

“You look sloppy,” She lifted one of the rusty strands.

“I hardly see how that involves you at all,” He smacked her hand away.

“Of course it involves me,” She crossed her arms, “I won’t have people thinking that Count Vimund lets his staff wander around in such a state. It reflects poorly on him you know”

“I thought my ties to him were supposed to be secret.”

She rolled her eyes, “If you even bothered to read the contract, you would know that you will be given a cover title. One to explain being around him so much”

“Hey! I skimmed it.”

“Sure,” She started walking off, “come on, let’s get you fixed up. Honestly you are such a hassle. You haven't even been here a day, you know.” 

Damien got Deja vu as he followed her, “you’re one to speak. I don't think I've heard a single word from you that was productive in any way.”

“Dont bring up productivity to me, magicless witch.”

“For your information, I chose not to use magic this far.”

“Uh huh. And you just gave up that conviction after a single meeting.”

Damien looked at the paintings, “what can I say? The Count as a way with words”

“You mean numbers?”

Damien didn’t respond to that one.

“It's not a hard guess. He made up the number when we were still looking for an actual witch, it’s a gross overcompensation for anything you could do.”

“And I suppose your skills are so much better?”

“Yes.”

She opened one of the side entrances, well in this case it was an exit, to the estate. The light outside was golden now. She led them to an offshoot building, probably a shed. Damien watched as she kicked out a stool.

“Sit.”

“For what?”

“Your hair cut.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Im the best one here for it, I cut my own hair all the time.”

“Now I really don't want you near my hair.”

“Fuck off,” She pulled out a dagger from her sleeve, “If you actually cared that much you would have taken better care of it.”

Damien sat down, “Not even going to use scissors? I thought my looks were important now.”

“You know what I meant. I'm good enough with these anyways. Just pull the hair taught and it cuts through just fine” She stood behind Damien.

Damien sat mostly still as she pulled at sections and cut away the unsalvageable parts.

“So what do you actually do for the Count?” he asked, not thinking about the last time he had fingers in his hair. 

“I'm his housecarl.”

“I thought you said that was a cover?”

“For you it will be,” She switched to evening the length, “but unlike you I actually care about more than the payout.”

“What did he do to earn such loyalty from you?”

She remained quiet.

“It must have been something substantial if you are willing to do this for his reputation.” Damien resisted the urge to turn around and see her reaction to that.

“If he is taking a chance on you, I'm still going to do what I can to tilt the odds in his favor, even if it's putting new shoes on a Dobbin,” she non-answered.

He almost respected the commitment, “You just love dragging on that gambling metaphor.”

She took a step back, “It’s hardly a metaphor at all.”

“And the Dobbin part?”

“Just be grateful you aren’t an ass.”

Damien got up and looked down to see a small pile of tangled up red, "I'm surprised you didn’t nick me”

“Told you I'm good.”

“I will admit, your hair is very misleading of your skills.”

“I'm reconsidering my stance on letting Count Vimund take a chance on you.”

Chapter Text

 Damien had only been walking back to look around the second floor, and not try unlocking any doors, when he turned a corner and came face to face with the Count. He had to take a small step back on the extravagant carpet to avoid bumping into the man.

 The Count stumbled back as well, all grace gone for a moment. Damien decided it wasn't so bad if he took secret delight in it. Maybe he should try catching the man off guard more often.

 “Oh my apologies I didn’t see-” Those frosty eyes focused on Damien. “You look different.”

 “You might see better if you actually opened the curtains instead of relying on candles,” Damien moved more toward the center of the hall to face the Count more directly. “And I was told I had to clean up, like I would choose to stay like that in the first place,”

 “I see,” the Count's eyes stayed for a moment before they went to the wall, “Well I'm glad to have run into you. I was actually looking for you.”

 Damien pulled down the sleeve of his new shirt, “Did you need something else signed?”

 The Count waved off the comment, “no, we are all done with the paperwork side of things.” 

 “What I wanted was to introduce you to your mentor,” He shifted his weight away from the wall.

 “The one who will be teaching me a highly illegal practice?” Damien crossed his arms.

 “Yes well,” his golden hair matched the low light in a way that pissed Damien off, “She isn't exactly inclined to contact anyone about it, so rest assured that you can trust her,”

 “She is the least of my concerns,”

 He didn't address that comment, instead he chose to say “come alone then,” and turned around back down the hall.

 Damien held his own wrist as he was yet again being led around. He hardly got a say in anything today. He doubts the Count would just let him walk away if he refused the contract, considering Damien now knew about the Midnight stance. If that was even a real order and not in it of itself a trick.

 “It's strange,” The golden haired man started up the stairs, "I would have figured someone like you would have taken advantage of magic by now”

 “Its never really worked out for me before,” Damien found himself answering, “I promised to never try and use it.”

 “You promised?” The Count slowed a little and turned to look back at Damien with one side of his face.

 Damiem hated how the eyes above him did not look down.

 “It's a long story” Damien cut in front of him on the stairs and stepped onto the second level, “to make it short, magic would only cause more harm than good for me.”

 There was a pause from the Count that spoke louder than any confirmative phrase he could have said.

 “You don't need to hide your marks here” The sly bastard actually tried to change the subject.

 Damien stepped aside to let the Count take the lead, “why not just use this mentor for your agent?”

 “You will see soon enough,” he said with a slight tone that held something? Damien wasn't sure quite what it was.

 He also didn’t appreciate being left in the dark, but if he wanted to break the rules later, then he should at least go along with things now.

 It wasn’t long until they came across a door next to a painting of a quaint little barn. Damien had checked this door earlier during his expedition. He even tried to look through the key lock. It made more sense as to why it was locked now, considering they were heading this way for magic related purposes.

The Count took a ring of copper keys from his pocket, it likely held a key for everywhere in this place. The motion to unlock the door was quick and effortless, much like how Damien would slip small items away from their owners.

Damien took note of what pocket those gloved hands put the keys back in. 

The door opened with a shriek of bronze hinges. Inside was unremarkable. It looked to be an old dusty store room. White sheets covered the furniture, the wallpaper didn’t match the rest of the manor at all, and the corners were cobweb infested.

Damien didn’t see another door in the room. He waited for the Count to grab something and continue dragging Damien into his mess, but he just stood inside the room.

Damien left a trail in the dust as he entered. The air felt so stagnant it felt as though Damien was moving around it, not the other way around. The handleholder on the wall was empty, and once more the only light in the room was from a covered up window.

For a moment Damien thought there was a breeze, but the curtain wasn’t moving.

“How familiar are you with spirits?” the Count asked without prompting.

Damein felt the room close in a little, “I’ve had a few run ins, someone like me is bound to.”

A feminine voice from behind Damien spoke, “so you would say that you

Have contact with spirits regularly?”

 Damien jumped back and turned around, nearly pushing over the Count as he did so. In front of him was a vaguely person sized hazy blue blob with the opacity of thin sea glass. To say he was unused to the sight was a lie, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

 “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up,” The Count commented.

 “It still takes me a moment to manifest you know,” The form became steadily defined, the voice less distant, "It's always in one and out the other with you.”

 Damien watched as the soft blue light gained the face of an older woman. At least old enough to have a grandchild or two, her clothes were very old fashioned. Her skirt did fade away into nothing before it hit the floor, no legs in sight. Her hair was viewable behind a veil that also didn’t end in one particular spot.

 “I wasn’t aware I would be meeting a specter today,” Damien forced himself to remain where he stood.

 A ghost was the last thing he needed right now.

 “And I wasn’t expecting to take on a student so soon,” her hands soundlessly clapped together, “but you are here none the less.”

 “I believe introductions are in order,” The Count spoke up after a moment. He gestured to the ghost, “This is your mentor, lady Esimier. She is a truly brilliant mage, and I'm sure you will be in good hands with her.”

 “No need to talk me up like that, at this rate you are going to give me a hubris.” The spirit shook her head slowly.

 Damein took a step back to even out the space between them all. This specter at least seemed benign, friendly enough to have banter with the Count at least. That or she somehow knew the Count when she was alive. From how old the Count looked, which seemed to be only a few years older than Damien himself, he might have been a grandchild?

 But the fact she was a witch threw out that theory. If a noble house had a witch and didn’t throw them out, then the whole clan risked prosecution for the potential of a magical bloodline. She could have hidden it, in fact Damien was sure there were at least a handful of nobles that secretly practiced.

 It was easier to learn to control magic in secret. Big walls and staff that could disappear made for keeping mishaps under the radar. Damien only ever had various inn rooms he hardly remembers to practice in, though he learned it was fruitless after a while.

 “You seem lost in thought,” A wispy voice commented.

 Damien looked back from one of the sheet covered chairs to the barely defined woman. 

 He was quiet for a little longer, thinking of old wood that smelt of mildew and the soft hum of someone he barely knew.

 “Let’s just get this started,” Damien snapped back in.

 “Alrighty then, can you tell me which kind of magic you specialize in?” she asked.

 “What does that mean?”

 “Oh dear,” The Lady rested her cheek in the palm of her hand as she tilted her head, “I really do have my work cut out for me then.”

 Damien felt vaguely insulted.

 “I did tell you he hasn’t practiced magic before.” The Count slid back into the conversation.

 “Yes, but to not even know the fundamentals…oh don't you worry deary I’ll get you all caught up faster than you could realize,”

 Damien didn’t like the sound of that. Damien liked the sound of that.

 “What do I need to do first,” he asked.

 “Well if you don't know what sort of magic you are prone to, I can take a look at your marks and ask you some questions to figure it out,” she explained.

 Damien looked at the count and back. He would rather keep the marks to himself. Those intricate patterns stayed under wraps, at all times.

 He tugged his sleeve down, "I'm sure the questions will suffice.”

 “Perhaps, but if you are that inexperienced then I really should look. They are the best way to learn about your own magic, you know. Or how you should go about learning.” she persisted

 “I can just learn the basic way”

 “thats not how this works, deary.”

 “Then I’ll adapt as I go.”

 “And break how many things?”

 “Im sure he can afford it.”

 “But why make unnecessary costs?”

 The Count broke into the conversation, “Why are you so adverse to letting her see them? At least the ones on your wrist should be fine.”

 C“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Damien looked over at the Count.

 He looked a little taken aback, then confused.

 But before he could say anything the specter spoke to him, “Now Vimund, there is no reason for you to be here for the lesson, now is there? I assure you, I can handle a little rogue witch all on my own. You are a busy man, go work on your things and stop procrastinating.”

 The Count regained his composure and took a step towards the door, “I suppose I should, if you have it handled.”

 And just like that he left. Damien let go of his sleeve.

 “Now deary, can I see your arms?”

 Damien reluctantly rolled up his sleeve and ignored the way it itched as he held out his arm, “My name is Damien.”

 “Damien then, let me take a look,” The spirit looked over the pattern stamped onto Damien's skin.

 Two lines coming from his arm faded into appearance before they separated to make a circle. In the middle was a swirling pattern that came to an oval, with two matching circles on either end. The smaller circles held triangles that slightly breached their edges. The oval had a stair with flickered points.

 The specter made eye contact before asking, “Do spirits show themselves to you often?”

 Damien pulled his sleeve back down, "Sometimes, might not be more than usual.”

 “And animals? Would you say they are drawn to you? Or perhaps the other way around?”

 “I mean, they come up to anyone if you just sit still long enough.”

 “Mh-hm” She hummed like she was checking something off of a list, “Can I take a look at the neck ones too? Or are the bandages for something else?”

 Damien wasn’t liking how easy he was to figure out, "can't you tell from the wrist ones?”

 “Its generally better to get a full picture for these things.”

 Damien sighed as he reached up to undo the bandages. He had no reason to be doing this. He should keep saying the wrists were enough.

 His fingertips pulled at the cloth strips until they became loose enough to stick his fingers under and pull off. 

 The low collar of his new shirt showed off the inky traces that ran across his neck and collar bones. It was symmetrical on both sides. A single line brushed into existence midway down the side of his neck, and twisted around swirls with little spikes attached. The pattern trailed down his collar bone and ended again about midway.

 “I see, interesting” the Spirit observed, “now to confirm, may I take your hands?”

 “If you must,” Damien held his hand out.

 The Spirit pressed her fingers against his palm. A slight tingling sensation worked up Damien’s arm after the touch. It felt distinctly like magic though not as overwhelming as when it went off on its own. 

 Nothing even happened as the ghost drew her hand back in a few moments.

 “So, your magic likes spirits, or rather, that spirits like your magic?” She asked even though it wasn’t a question.

 “What did you do?”

 “Just a little attunement,” The Specter stepped, or rather glided, back, “To put it in simple terms, I tapped into the flow of your magic, and felt it.”

 Damien pulled up the collar of his shirt the best he could, “If you could do that, why look at the marks at all, or ask the questions?”

 “Well for one, it gives me a general idea of what I'm looking for,” The Ghost folded her ethereal hands together, “and, you should know you don't have to hide them here. This is a place of people who are working for Vimund in opposition to the sun order. If you are safe anywhere, it's here.”

 Isn’t that a nice thought, “Maybe I don't want to go around showing them off.”

 “It’s not about showing them off,” she said in a voice that would have been comforting, "It's about not feeling the need to work around them, and besides, constantly suppressing your magic like that isn’t the best for you. But I can only ask so much from you this first lesson after all.”

 Just letting her look at the marks was too much, letting her look into his magic was too much, agreeing to learn magic at all was too much, “Is that all for today?”

 “Oh no, not yet. I still haven't told you exactly what you should be doing with your magic.”

 “Then what should I be doing?”

 “As I said before, your kind of magic is especially suited to feed spirits, who in turn will grant you their aid. Think of it like buying some bread from a baker, except the money is magic, and the baker is a water sprite, and the bread is being able to freeze the water.” She went into the lecture with ease, “does that make sense?”

 “If my magic relies on spirits to work, how does it still act out?” Damien crossed his arms.

 “If I had to guess, It's because you let it sit full for so long. And with your inexperience, I doubt you could control the output once it reached that point. So your magic would spill out into the closest possible spirits. They are fickle creatures, you know.” She moved on with that answer solved to her standards, “Now a witch like you is suited for familiars. Most have one by your age.”

 “I don’t have one.”

 “Yes you do.”

 Well that's not what he was expecting to hear, “what?”

 “I felt it when I linked to your magic earlier. You most definitely have a familiar. Don't be too shocked, sometimes all it can take to get one is a child naming a spirit of some kind. Naming something makes a powerful bond, you know, more so than something giving a name.”

 Damien thought back, “I never onced named a-”

 She glided closer, “I can help you summon it.”

 Damien stopped his argument.

 “Its simple to do, if you let me tap into your magic again.”

 “Alright.”

 Damien held out his hand again, and the specter placed her almost corporeal hand in his. 

 The sensation that went up his arm this time was stronger. The hum of it was more focused than he was used to. Like the threads of muscle were searching for the right frequency, honing in on a single name.

 And then it was done. 

 The translucent hand moved away to reveal a small void mass. Its edges had the illusion of fading into fuzz, but holding it was like touching the mist over a lake.

 The creature compressed into his hands, making a mhrp sort of noise.

 “Do you recognize it now?” she asked.

 How could he ever forget?

 The Afternoon sun making the glass edges of that broken window glint. The golden rays that poured in and made long shadows in every ramshackle corner. The place smelt of mildew and old forgotten linens in the back of a closet.

 He could hear them outside sometimes, other children playing in the open streets. He wasn’t allowed to go out in such places, especially with other people around. 

 So he sat on the floor and dragged a rusty metal pin down the valleys between the boards. He hit a bump and it fell out of his hands and rolled under the slightly caving in bed.

 He went to reach for it of course, he had nothing else to do. His hand touched something cold, but not solid. When he found the pin and pulled his hand back, there was also a dark ball of shadow attached.

 They must have startled each other, because the thing ducked back under the bed, and Damien scooted away.

 He was told to never get close to the creatures of Unliar. They were beings that disgusted Helic and all things right.

 Still it only took so long before he began whispering under the bed, before he began finding ways to play with the shadeling, only so long before he gave it a name.

 And only so long until he was found out.

 “Dusty,” he called the creature in his hand.

 The ball rounded back out, seemingly giving its attention.

 “My, you really must have named it when you were a boy,” The mentor teased.

 “Yeah well you said it was common, besides, I thought it was a dust bunny,” Damien said without getting defensive at all.

 Dusty made a whrm noise, most likely agreeing.

 “Well I suppose that can be all for today then,” The specter started 

Fading.

 “That quick?”

 “Oh don't you worry, you will have plenty of study material,” and then she was gone.

 On que, a series of books fell from the cobweb infested bookcase, though carefully enough to land on the covers and not the pages. It ended with a stack of six or so books.

 Well this was going to be a hassle.

Chapter Text

The meal at dinner was nothing fancy, some boiled chicken and corn. Damien assumed they probably saved the fancy things like roast duck or some obscure cheese for events with guests whose opinions actually mattered. It made sense, it wasn’t like he was someone who needed to be impressed.

He picked up a single kernel and dropped it onto the ball of void resting on the table. It disappeared into Dusty’s shadows. It flickered. Damien took a bite of the chicken before repeating this action.

The guard was eating at her side of the table as usual. The Count wasn’t down as usual. Damien expected to see him again at dinner, but he hadn’t joined for any meal yet. Damien supposed it was likely that he ate somewhere else, a small table in the kitchen wasn’t exactly a fine dining experience. He wasn’t in the dining room further back though, Damien was sure that he would have seen plates set up or signs of use if that was the case.

Either way that wasn’t really something he should spend time lingering on. What was it to him if the Count didn’t want to share a meal with those below him? It was only a passing curiosity. 

Besides it was obvious there was a cook around here somewhere. Asraith said before that she didn’t make the meals, and the ghost certainly wasn’t cooking. There has to be someone else here he just hasn’t seen yet. Probably because they stay in the servants' corridors.

But the estate was empty, there was no one to try and avoid other than him, the guard, and the Count. The blue eyed man didn’t seem like the type to give unnecessary orders like remaining completely unseen, but then again nobles could do whatever they wanted. 

He was in the middle of dropping a fourth kernel on Dusty when the guard spoke up, “So much for not doing magic, hm?”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he thought about how many horses he should head for the homestead.

“The words of someone with very strong morals,” She pushed around some morsel on her plate.

“That had nothing to do with morals.”

“Still gave up on it pretty quick.”

“The Count is very convincing,” It wasn’t exactly false, the money was pretty convincing.

“No, I don't think someone like you is convinced as much as you are persuaded,” She glanced down at Dusty.

Why would she tell him that? “I didn’t think you were giving me that much attention.”

“Of course I’m trying to figure out what kind of person you are. It's part of my job.”

“What isn’t part of your job?” 

“Answering your nonsense questions”

“You seem to engage in every other kind of nonsense.”

“Nonsense that I didn't deny I would do”

“Are you just going to hold onto this and the gambling metaphor?”

“ absolutely ”

Damien clicked his tongue and picked up Dusty, who then made its way up to his shoulder. Talking during a meal wasn’t something he was used to. There were a lot of things in this situation he was getting used to still.

The meal was fresh and seasoned with salt. He had a plate sitting on a table. He didn’t even have to work that hard for it, he found it just sitting in the kitchen.

“I'm surprised you didn't say anything to me when we first met, you have no problem saying anything now “ he commented

“It's an art,” She took a bite of chicken.

“Basic restraint?”

“Oh believe me, not saying it how I see it is much more than basic restraint.”

“Uh huh”

When was the last time he ate across from someone he knew?

“Can’t even pretend to agree with me the same way you pretend to have principles?”

Damien set his fork down, “at least mine don't revolve around a singular person.”

She mirrored his action, “That’s because I have the strength to stick by one person, and won’t jump at the chance the second something that's better for a moment comes along.”

“I’m not exactly in position to jump ship.”

How long had it been since he ate at a table that wasn’t in a busy tavern?

“No, but you will have chances, and I don't know if you can be trusted to stay on deck the second the storm hits.”

“Don’t you want to stay on ship during a storm? Your metaphors are getting worse.”

“You know exactly what I'm saying.”

“Maybe”

“Do you enjoy being insufferable?”

“Do you?”

She leaned back in her chair, “At least I make myself useful, you still need to be trained, for god knows how long. Your familiar is a speck, and-”

Damien stood from the well built but simple wooden chair, not caring for the screech of the legs on the tile floor. The guard actually stopped talking as he did so, maybe from the loud noise, maybe from the sudden motion. He didn’t care why. He pulled his sleeve down even though it was already.

He left the room without cleaning up his plate.

Damien had previously secured the books on a nightstand in the room he would be sleeping in. The cover of one was opulent, the lettering treated with gold leaf. Another was brightly colored, and another looked old and worn. Quite a varied collection.

It was hard to keep track of time in the estate, with the curtains being how they are. But in this room he could see clearly that the golden rays had shifted into dim blue hues in preparation for the coming night.

He picked up a book and flipped to a random page. He glanced it over and then snapped the book close. He could maybe understand a handful of words, not nearly enough to draw the proper context from. 

It was annoying for sure, but he would have to learn purely from the ghost’s instructions. That would also slow down his progress, which might piss off a certain guard. He found himself wondering how that was his problem. He could take as long as he wanted to learn and there was nothing she could do about it.

That is unless the contract stated he had to make a certain amount of progress in a set time, he was fairly sure it didn’t, but he didn’t know for sure.

Maybe he should start using the library to teach himself.

Dusty squeaked on his shoulder. He brought up his hand for the shadeling, who crawled into his palm.

He looked down at the thing he was fairly sure was looking back up, “what?”

Dusty semi-bounced up and down.

“You wanna explore?”

It bounced faster.

“Ok, ok, calm down,” he set Dusty down on the floor.

Dusty zoomed off to every dark corner and under every piece of furniture. It wasn’t long before Damien lost track of the little guy.

That only lasted for a few moments, as now one of the dresser drawers was shaking and screaming an animalistic noise.

“Did you get yourself stuck?” Damien walked over and pulled the bronze handle.

Dusty sprang out and under the dresser, which left Damien looking at a pile of clothes.

Which is weird considering he didn’t bring any.

He was fairly certain they were empty when he explored the room before. In fact he was very sure of that. 

He lifted up what turned out to be a shirt. It matched the one he was wearing now, about the same size. Chances were it came from the same place as well. He picked up a pair of pants and found the same.

It was nice to have a few sets of clothes, but he would really like to know who just wandered into the room he was supposed to be staying in.

Security in this place was just one woman who didn’t even like him, so it's not like it would be hard to slip in anywhere. Especially if one had a set of keys. Damien just looked at the open drawer for a few more moments before closing it. That was a revelation that could be dwelled on later, not right before he was going to bed.

He sat on the edge of that single sized bed with pillows in their cases. There was a slight give in the mattress. The blanket was thin but it was a blanket. 

Dusty came out from under the dresser and dodged the lingering light as it came over to the bedframe. It stopped by Damien’s feet, and he picked it up. Dusty whirbled, then jumped free and settled in the space between a pillow and the wall.

Damien settled in as well, which was strange. The whole feeling of it all was strange. This was a spot just for himself that he didn’t have to defend or keep hidden away. Looking up only showed the ceiling, and not open stars or the sloppy roof of the cheapest inn he could find.

The pillow under his head sunk, making room for him. The blanket covered him fully, he didn’t even have to curl up.

The room looked odd from this angle. It was all such a strange sensation, even as he closed his eyes.

He knew scales were digging into his skin more than he could feel it. The familiar hiss in his ear was unmistakable.

He was standing now, on a rooftop overlooking a blur of town.

He couldn’t move if he tried, the serpent coiled around his calves. 

She was there before he even was, though she stood below on a balcony. 

“You should come down”

She said.

The Gold on her head reflected the sunlight into rays.

“You said you would”

She said.

Damien replied, “You were supposed to come up.”

But that didn’t make sense. Who would meet on a roof? It makes much more sense to meet on a balcony.

The snake hissed, “you know she is right”

The woman didn’t hear it, “you promised”

And he knew he did.

“You did too,” he brought up.

“I’m keeping it”

“I can’t know that,”

“You're the one who broke it”

“I had to adapt,”

“You could have found a way”

The woman drank from her tea cup at the balcony table.

The snake whispered, “you’ve done it now”

The sun rose, and the golden rays that came from her gold focused until everything burned away.

And now he was falling into the open burning ground.

He held onto a piece of melting iron from the balcony wall. 

He could see the steam rising from the water in his flesh.

The snake slithered up to his shoulders and whispered, “you were supposed to let go”

He held onto the glowing iron.

His hand sizzled.

“It should be hurting”

The skin near but not touching the iron began turning red.

“It will only hurt”

The water just under the skin began to boil.

“Why are you still holding on?”

He didn’t move his fingers even as the tips flaked.

The iron stretched and dripped down until it fell from the rest, taking damien down with it.

The room was pitch dark. Some light came in, but not much with the moon only being a sliver.

The blanket slid off of his shoulders as he sat up. Normally his dreams didn’t wake him.’

Then there was a tap.

It was quiet, something that should be written off.

Then it happened again, a constant stream of little noises and creaks. It seemed to be coming from behind the wall.

Damien stood up from the bed and made his way to the far wall. He pressed his hand to the out of style wall paper and felt the small thuds that made their way through.

It didn’t take long for him to silently leave the room. He dragged his hand along the wall as he walked. He changed course when they got weaker. Eventually he could feel it in his feet if he focused, then he was standing by an out of the way door. It led to the servants' corridors.

He opened the door, and cringed when there was a small squeak. The noise continued at a steady pace though, and so he stepped into the narrow passageway.

It was dark enough that he still had to keep his hand on the wall, though he would have anyway.

It didn’t seem like he was close at all, and then he took a turn and was face to face with it.

Sliding through the corridor, or was it crawling? Was a mass that took up nearly the whole space. Countless limbs all strewn together like a child might add parts to a doll. There was a head, at least one, with mangy bronze hair that dragged to the floor. 

Countless arms and legs shambled to move it through the hall, then it froze.

Damien took a step back before it even turned around to face him.

Chapter Text

 A shriek ripped out from distorted and twisted vocal cords. It was a painful thing that bounced around the dark and narrow halls that smelt vaguely of moth scales. Shambling hands and legs pushed and pulled along the wall to drive its body forward.

 Damien sprinted down the rickety flooring with no hesitation. He really should stop investigating strange noises. 

 Navigating in the dark was less than ideal, Damien cursed himself for not taking the time to explore the corridors at least a little in the daytime. He would brush up against the wall and have to adjust his course a little. He needed to find a door, but there was nothing to reflect off of the dull metal. 

 He debated putting his hand on the barely finished wall regardless of splinters to find an exit when said wall suddenly ran into his whole body, followed by the floor.

 Damien cursed yet again, but this time it was directed at the double combo his body had just endured. He didn’t have time to linger on it, he rolled onto his side and kept the momentum going when his palm met the floor. Being on his feet was the one goal.

 He didn’t know how far back the thing was, didn’t want to know. He should be out before that’s even a problem. He just needed to trace his way back from where he came.

 He should turn left now, unless the corner he ran into was the left turn. Or was it right? Fuck.

 Being panicked never helped anybody. Get a grip. It doesn’t matter what door just get to one. 

 Something shifted in the shadows further in the dark. It nearly made Damien slow his pace, but he knew better. It didn’t look like the shaded mass of limbs he was escaping.

 A door opened right in front of him and Damien met with the floor again. With the second smooth recovery of the night, Damine rolled into the slightly less dark room. The floor shook with the door when it slammed close. Damien sprawled out on the floor and realized just how fast his chest was moving, both heart and lungs.

 A small blob hopped onto his sternum.

 It took him a moment to catch enough breath to say, “nice save.”

 Dusty wibbled.

 Damien breathed out, “could you always move doors like that?”

 Dustly blurbed.

 “Right, right,” Damien let his head fall back against the carpet, “It’s dark out,”

 Damien let the silence wash over him as his heart settled. He got up when he didn’t feel completely winded. Dusty had opened the way into one of the guest bedrooms. This one had lots of ornamentation that really couldn’t be made out in the dark, so Damien didn’t bother to take them in. 

 Dusty stayed on his shoulder up until he fell back in the bed in his designated space. He closed his eyes and wondered if he would have to ignore the thuds every night.

 The Specter’s room was the same as always. Dust covered the room in a frost-like imitation. White sheets draped across furniture that hadn’t been moved for gods know how long. The one thing that showed any signs of recent use was the bookshelf. Damien hadn’t figured out the books yet, but the blue mist in front of him didn’t need to know that. He wondered how long he could keep it that way.

 “It seems full of energy,” she said about the shadling running around under a table.

 “been like that for a while.” Damien was leaning against the faded wallpaper.

 The ghast passed through a chair as she moved around the room, “Good, it means your chance of having a magical mishap are lower, if your familiar has been absorbing some of your excess magic. At this rate it might catch up to being a familiar fitting a mage your age before you are caught up in your magic.”

 “Yeah well I'm going in blind, Dusty is built for this.” Damien glanced at the small creature as it pretended to pounce on something in the dark.

 “You are built for this too, otherwise your soul wouldn’t make all that excess energy,” She drifted into the center of the room.

 “I suppose you are going to tell me to control the outflow?” Damien crossed his arms.

 “So you do listen,” The ghost found something humorous, “But no, I don't think that's the best course for you.”

 Damien glanced up at her before he drifted his focus back to Dusty, “Then what’s your professional opinion?”

 “You need to train your ability to reach out to spirits.”

 “I thought my magic reached out on its own.” Damien questioned.

 “Not how it works,” the specter corrected, "honestly, it's like you don't study.”

 Damien didn’t comment and she explained, “in your outbursts, it's the spirits taking your excess energy, not your energy reaching out to spirits. If you want to be able to do magic quickly, then you need to get better at communing with spirits. They are the ones doing all the action, you know.”

 “That doesn't sound very convenient,” Damien figured he would have to do magic quickly, having to take the time and get a spirit to help him did not sound quick.

 “No it isn't. Other witches are able to use their energy to influence the elements directly, witches with your kind of energy are not very good at that, but spirits seem to love it. It may be a bit more indirect, but it is far more versatile.” The ghost drifted back and forth across the room, “ in their case they would need to work on their own connection to their magic, the art of moving energy around is no easy task, witches of your specialty don't have to worry about that as much, instead you need to worry about getting the spirits to listen to you. It would have been easier if you started training that as a child, but we can’t do much about that now.”

 “I can call on Dusty just fine,” Damien helpfully pointed out, he would like to keep the magic use to a minimum.

 “Your familiar and you already have a long term link. Speaking of Dusty, you should give the thing some more energy here and there you know, even with it feeding off your excess, with how often you keep it out it won't grow much,” She held a stern look for a moment, the kind of stern only elderly women who definitely know that they know better than you can muster.

 “Noted,” Damien shrugged off.

 The ghost sighed and her see through expression softened, “Still it's a good idea for you to try and commune with other spirits. The more used you are to calling them, the faster you can get that step over with and move on to the magic part of magic.”

 “So I can hurry up and actually be useful?” Damien walked over to the table Dusty was playing under.

 “You shouldn’t let Asraith get to you, we don’t all hold her sentiments.” The specter flickered and glided over next to him.

 Damien stuck his hand under the white cloth and pulled back out when the familiar touch of what one would assume to be cool mist fell into his palm. Dusty ran up his sleeve and settled on his shoulder. Damien pulled his sleeve back down.

 “She doesn’t. And it's perfectly normal if you and him do hold that sentiment, as you call it. In fact I would expect it,” He reasoned, and tugged down his other sleeve, “I know I'm not exactly what they were hoping to find. No one can be blamed for wanting to make the most out of a situation when they were only given a bad option.”

 “You are hardly a bad option.”

 “Perhaps, given the circumstances.”

 She gave him a strange look. He didn’t like it. He didn’t understand it.

 She seemed to look for the words for a moment, then settled on, "I'm sure that no matter the circumstances that you would have been given a place here.”

 Damien thought about retorting with the fact he wouldn’t in any world be given anything for nothing, but decided the conversation was moving into territory that made him feel scales on his skin, “and how exactly should I be practicing calling spirits?”

 She let him have that, “well, I can teach you the method to make spirits show themselves. Most of the time they reside in the threads between our perceived reality, but they can make themselves observable to our eyes if you give them a tether to your side of the coin, so to speak”

“You should practice somewhere with an abundance of spirits, starting with the small and weak ones. Think autumn sprites and guardian sprouts.”

 “Lots of outside sounding things.” Damien pointed out very helpfully.

 The Specter blinked slowly as she thought, “Well that just means a good place to start would be outside then. If I’m remembering right, these grounds should have a garden.” 

 “It barely qualifies as one,” Damien looked past the closed window.

 “Oh?”

 “It looks like no one has taken care of it for at least six years. Wild animals have moved in and I wouldn’t be surprised if the shaded beds were snake infested. I’ve seen woodside fields with less weeds,” Damine ranted, the specter slowly smiled, “The paths are completely covered up in some places, how you let it get so bad that the stones are completely covered, I have no idea. It’s a waste of good space.”

 “It’s perfect then,” the Specter spoke into the quiet room.

 Damien returned his gaze to her.

 The specter met his gaze. “either way it would be a good spot for you to start. Maybe you can even start helping the spirits fix it up.”

 Damien put on a show of huffing, “I suppose if there is no other option.”

 The back garden was atrocious as always. More weeds and overgrowth than any sort of semblance of a groomed space that nobles would stroll in. Not that he cares if any non-existent nobles miss out on another way to waste their time, though he was very sure the only reason the garden was in this state was because no one of high enough importance used it. The only one here with a title was the Count, and Damien never saw him in the garden, or outside.

 He came to his usual spot, and it wasn’t long before a soft gray mass hopped up on a garden bed ledge. 

 “How you doing?” Damien leaned down and held out his hand.

 The rabbit jumped back, then quickly recovered and sniffed at Damien’s fingers with a rapidly twitching nose.

 “No treats today, I'm here on business," Damien moved quickly to put his hand on the creature’s head and moved quickly to wobble its ears.

 The rabbit dashed back into the underbrush at the sudden and unprompted wobbling. 

“Any spirits want to make this easy and come out for me?” Damien called in no particular direction.

Of course nothing happened.

Damien stood up and stretched before trying the method that the specter had taught him. He ignored how the slight tingle in his wrist made him feel sick, and used his magic to feel around the garden, tugging at whatever stood out. Nothing happened though, at least not before Damien stopped.

Dusty made a little cooing noise from under his sleeve.

Damien sat down on the ledge “I’m fine, first tries and all.”

Dusty slid out into the shaded underbrush. At the same time Damien turned around to lean closer to the plants. He moved long stringy leaves out of the way, unintentionally revealing the rabbit and Dusty running in circles. At least one of them was having a good time.

Damien eventually found a small sprout, this one didn’t look like a weed. Perhaps it was a remnant of what used to be grown here, when the beds were tame. The leaves looked pale, and it was short for this time of year. Chances are it was a flower of some kind.

“The hell are you doing?” the guards voice got to him.

Damine looked up and saw her leaving the back door and on her way to her shed.

“Magic shit, fuck off,” he shot at her.

She turned and kept walking to the side of the manor, “just don't bring dirt in.”

Damien looked back at the plants and listened to her footsteps disappear. When he couldn’t hear them anymore, he went back to the task at hand. Damien places his hands flat on the earth next to the sun starved sprout. He took a deep breath in and ignored the burn on his wrist as he reached beyond the dirt.

He could feel something between there and somewhere. Damien pulled at it, and there was no give. Damien stopped and re-evaluated. There was definitely a spirit here, the little flower leaves should have died in the summer.

Damien uprooted some of the surrounding dandelion sprouts. He dug up the stems of henbit, holding out the leafy clusters for the rabbit to snack on. Turns out some pests can be useful.

Once a decent circle was bare around the sprout, Damien put his hands to the ground again. He reached out to its roots, and attempted to coax out whatever was keeping the sprout alive.

Again he came back empty handed, and feeling tense.

Damien sat back up on the ledge, pulling a knee to his chest while the other foot rested on the ground. Dusty had taken one of the dandelions and was running around, teasing the ashy rabbit. Then when the rabbit had started to catch up, Dusty changed.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a small amorphous ball becoming a bunny sized oblong amorphous ball. Still, it was enough to spook the prey animal into scattering deeper into the untamed mess of greens.

Damien brushed the back of his fingers along the black mass, “good job, sorry about your friend.”

Dusty dropped the dandelion and made a whirling sound.

“He’ll be back tomorrow.” Damien picked up the shadeling as it shrunk back.

Dusty climbed back up into Damien’s sleeve, the cool misty feeling settled on his wrist. Damien figured he could give it another shot. 

He reached out to the roots, and focused on the subtle pull of where his energy wanted to go. He let it flow.

Something pulled up from the earth, through the roots of the flower sprout, and stood on the ground. It was a small thing, smaller than the withering stem. It looked like two round brussel sprouts stacked on top of one another. Leaves folded out from the smallest point in the middle. It had two beady eyes that still looked too large for its head. He would have to look around the library and figure out what sort of spirit this is.

The spirit ignored him entirely. Instead it focused all its attention at moving the pale leaves around. It stretched them up to reach higher, and twisted some to face the little light that made it through. It seemed hard at work.

Damien moved some of the overhead shrubs so that light was able to spill freely onto the little sprout. Doing so also highlighted just how pale its leaves were in comparison to the weeds.

The spirit made a noise that sounded somewhat like a mix between squeak and a chirp. It circled around the sprout a few times, readjusting leaves.

“There you go,” Damien didn’t mind that he was still being ignored.

He got to work pulling off the leaves he was pushing away, then some more to make sure the sprout had an unobstructed view. Sunlight warmed the shirt on his back.

Chapter Text

 Damien came in from another day of working on magic in the garden. It was a slow and mostly unsuccessful venture, but Dusty enjoyed playing with the wildlife out there, so not all was lost. With all his to do’s crossed off for the day, he wanted to relax, as anyone would. Dusty was hopping by his feet, now an ellipsoid with 4 stubby nubs.

 “How long do you intend to stay like that?”

 Dusty ran around in a circle in front of him before returning.

 Silly thing.

 Damien went to the kitchen, where a cluster of grapes called to him. The chair shrieked against the floor boards when it was pulled out, not a sound unlike the thing in the servant corridors. It made another creak when Damien sat down, as old chairs are prone to do.

 He had just plucked a firm reddish-purple berry to feed to Dusty, when footsteps rounded the corner. Damien tossed the fruit to the black mass bouncing around the room.

 “There you are,” the guard greeted.

 “You were looking for me?”

 “Yeah since two minutes ago,” She shifted her weight.

 “That’s not very long at all,” Damien popped a grape into his mouth.

 “Anway, I need you back by the training grounds,”

 “You mean the shed you took over and set up all your stuff at?”

 “Training grounds” she insisted.

 “Shed” he corrected.

 “Training grounds.”

 “Shed.”

 She huffed, “do you enjoy being a pest?”

 “Only when it annoys you.” Damien gave Dusty a grape.

 “You are going to regret that in a moment when I pummel you into the ground,” She headed to the door.

 “Hold on, I'm still eating,” Damien said mid grape.

 “Didn’t ask.”

 “I just got here.”

 “Not my problem,”

 “What do you even need me for?” Damien stumbled out of his chair.

 “I want to see your practical skills.”

 Damien met her at the door, “I know how to take care of myself.”

 “We’ll see about that.”

 It was a few more moments before the guard opened her gate into the makeshift area with a vague array of pells and sacks of flour wearing bullseyes that she called a training ground. He was sure there were more tools inside, weapons too.

 The guard walked up to the shed and slipped her dagger out from one of her sleeves. She set it on the windowsill where the light was captured in the metal. Damien figured this would probably be a bladeless spar, but seeing the hidden dagger out of the way was still reassuring. The guard returned to the center of the enclosed space.

 “Too scared to lose even with your blade?” Damien egged on

 She crossed her arms, “Oh I am not losing, but if I shredded you during this then I would never hear the end of it.”

 “Someone seems confident.”

 “Someone seems like he doesn’t know when to quit and is horrible at timing,”

 “I am brilliant at timing, and not over-confident."

 “I’m genuinely surprised you made it this far in life.”

 “Me too.”

 “Ok well dont be depressing about it.”

 “You brought it up-” the tail end of his sentence was cut off when hands grabbed onto his shoulders and threw him down.

 Now he could complain about the sudden start, or the nasty trick of waiting until he was talking. But what was going through his brain was a series of curses and expletives. His first reaction was to hook a leg around one of the guard’s, purely on instinct. 

 What followed was a mad scramble on the ground that barely resembled a productive or respectable spar. Both kept trying to overtake the other, while also countering what the other was attempting. The guard was giving him no wiggle room, he was sure any minor miscalculation would be taken advantage of.

 Still he was making no progress, anytime he gained a better offensive position she would force him back on the defensive. It was frustrating. Regular street thugs were easier to deal with, he could go for the throat with them.

His hand slipped from where he had been pushing on her inner arm. His muscles were getting tired out. She took advantage and pinned down his arm in kind.

Damien figured it was now or nothing. With his free hand he shoved the guard’s shoulder, giving it all the force leverage allowed. She gave a little, just enough for her to pull on his arm in that direction and continue his momentum. Just until he ended up turned around with an arm around his neck.

“Got a little reckless at the end there,” the barely breathless voice began.

Damien attempted to pull out of the hold. He was met with a tighter one.

“Dont be a sore loser.”

“Fine, now get off me.”

It was clear the guard found something funny, not from a laugh or some other sound, but a quick huff of air. Soon enough the force pulling on his neck was gone. As he was getting up himself, a hand entered his view.

“You obviously have no idea what you are doing, but you adapt pretty well, not completely hopeless. With enough work you might be able to not suck at defense.”

“You know,” Damien took her hand, “You have a way with backhanded compliments.”

“Be glad It's not an uppercutted compliment after that display,” She pulled him up onto his feet.

She gave him a good once over, then twice over, “You are a mess, can’t stay out of the dirt can you?”

“I hate you.”

“Good thing we are doing this three times a week now, then,” She walked back over to the windowsill.

“Excuse me,” Damien was decently baffled.

She put the blade back into her sleeve, “I don't want to waste my time keeping you alive during missions. And I don't want to be dragged to my own death because you were a dumbass.”

“Clearly I know how to at least hold my own, at least temporarily" he watched the metal disappear, “I’ve had my fair share of brawls.”

“Sure. fine. But what could you do against a ghoul feeling a little peckish? Or if we need to sneak around somewhere and trained knights aren't too happy about that? If a beastie isn’t taking too kindly to relocation?” She took steps closer until honey-like amber irises were deadlocked in front of him, “If we need to take out a witch hunter or two?”

Damien turned away and made his way to the gate, pulling down the sleeve that rid up during the rowdy events, “I doubt anyone could.”

She caught up to him and waited for him to glance over, then made a gesture to herself.

Damien stopped walking, “Bullshit.”

“Vimund told you I’ve been doing missions for a while, didn’t he?” she stopped in front of him, “The work didn’t go away just because he still needed a mage, someone needs to clean up the messes around here.”

That was true, though Damien didn’t want to dissect what kind skills someone would need to take on a creature that belonged to Unliar, while having the tack to not overly harm the creature, but guide it to whatever had to be done.

“Must have been lucky you wandered across such weak monsters then,” he said.

“Asshole, you know maybe I need another go at you.” She made for his arm.

Damien side stepped out of the way. She persisted. He booked it in a random direction.

 When he got back he found Dusty sleeping soundly next to a pile of small twigs he was fairly certain used to have grapes. There goes his evening snack. He sat down in the kitchen chair and watched the still blob for a moment.

 He poked the little creature and it made a startled squeak. When It realized it was a living thing that was awake and moving in the world, it climbed onto the back of Damien’s freshly cleaned hand.

 “Come on, let's go find something to do.” he got up and carried the critter out with him.

 Evening always made the halls seem longer. Even if very little of the stretched natural light made it in, the candles gave every surface a fading auburn glow. Shadows were always so dramatic at this time, perhaps because they knew they were about to disappear into the greater night. Was darkness all one big shadow, or a collection of a lot of shadows? It would be pretty lonely to be one big shadow though.

 Damien’s feet led him to the subtle Library door. It was better than nothing, he did need to get some reading in anyway. 

 There weren’t an obscene amount of shelves, but it was a decent collection nonetheless. Damien ran his fingers across spines looking for something he would be mostly familiar with. His eyes went past then went back to lock onto a book called something something fables of something.

 It wasn’t often, but sometimes for festivals or celebrations there would be a performance in town. Whatever way it was done, either a play or sometimes just a dramatic telling, most of the stories were legends and myths. Epics of Helic, the fall of the Silver Sword, the bet of the twin stars, all classic tales he knows mostly by heart. Damien pulled the book from its place and flipped through the pages where he stood.

 On the holidays it was common for independents to put on the tales purely for the sake of tradition. Though sometimes If Selstor thought it relevant entertainment for fellow nobles, he would endorse a group, or hire some thespians himself. Now those were grand productions.

 Damien remembers when he was first able to see one. Luckily for him it was one that was sponsored. It was a folk tail, his favorite one. One he had overheard beyond the window long before he was able to go out. The lead wore a fox mask made from robin belly feathers. The fox belonged to no realm, slipping between spirit filled marshes and the mountains dragons nested in. 

 Though a creature that could be welcomed by all, was defended by none. Such was the reason they couldn’t be trusted.

 The owl actor wore a cloak and shawl, they spent the whole time leaning on a staff of knotted wood. The Butterfly actress had a dress that reflected spots of color with little specs. The young fawn actor had a brown vest covered in spots. One by one, the fox tricked them on the Stage with a weaved flower rim. 

 Damien had considered if he could travel with them, but at that time he would have never left. He was still waiting back then. Part of him was still waiting, the part of him that didn’t understand situations or circumstances or basic logic. The part that knew what words snakes tried to form when they hissed.

 A dark butterfly was fluttering in front of his face. It landed on the edge of the book he was holding open. Damien watched as it crawled across the blurry words and eventually took ticklish steps onto his thumb. Damien closed the book and went to sit on a chair with a thin cushion. Dusty flew up and set on his shoulder, weighing nothing and flexing its wings.

 Right, all he had to do was find a tale he knew and match up the words, it should be simple. He flipped through the pages until he spotted big words at the top of the page that read silver sword, and some other words that probably read fall of.

 A candle sat in the center of the table in a bronze holder. By the time it leveled out with the wax spilling out around the folded metal lip, Damien realized he was getting nowhere. The lines were too long to match up with certainty. He would have better luck with a list of shop names.

 He was about to close the book and go do something actually productive to do when the door knob clicked as politely as it could in the quiet room. Considering there was no immediate insult at Damien’s presence, it wasn’t the guard. His footsteps had a dull echo around the room as Damien kept looking at the page in front of himself.

 “Doing some late night reading as well?” the accented voice asked from one of the far shelves.

 “Just wanted to look into some things, lost track of time.”

 “Such an easy thing to do, isn’t it,” The count sat down across the table, “How have things been going?”

 Damien reread the same sentence a few times, “The specter says my skills are on track. Your guard has taken it on herself to train and assess me.”

 “Did she? I’m not at all surprised. She is always making sure things run smoothly. I can only ensure so much from where I stand, having someone like her out on the field is invaluable. You are in good hands.” 

 Damien failed again to place his accent, not that he was particularly knowledgeable on the subject in the first place. It was like there were two layered on top of the other, perhaps some niche tone from a small section of the north?

 The count still hadn’t started on his own book, “anything else?”

 Damien thought about dark halls filled with far too many limbs, “Should there be?”

 No one spoke for a moment.

 “I’m glad you are making use of the library, I am not here nearly enough to justify it. I tend to keep what I’m reading in my office or my chambers,” It was a voice practiced at sounding friendly, “It was already here when I took over the place, no use wasting a good book collection.”

 When Damien didn’t say anything the Count went on, “I add to it when something catches my eye. Though with our business one can never be too careful what they purchase. Esimier keeps the more taboo tomes, though I’m sure you have seen plenty of those. What sort of books do you prefer?”

 Damien closed the book in his hands and looked at the blue eyes that had already been on him, “I don't read often. I just needed some research.”

 The Count’s expression was frustratingly unreadable, a smile that someone might call calm or at ease. But nobles always had the most extravagant masks.

 “Then perhaps you can look around town and find something you’d like. I do owe you your first week's pay.”

 “I haven't done anything yet.”

 “You’ve been learning about something you made very clear you had no interest in. I doubt that's easy.”

 Well who was he to say no if the Count wanted to throw away his money for no reason.

 “I’ll wait until after the first mission,” But he knew he could more than earn it.

 “If that's what you want to do,” his gaze shifted to the voiding insect on Damien’s shoulder now looking a little surprised, “oh, your uh…guy is a bug.”

 “Dusty. And that's part of the progress I've been making,” Damien lifted his hand for the shadeling to land on the back of, “it likes to mimic things.”

 The Count watched candlelight diffract off of obsidian scales on those insectoid wings. Chilly blue was washed out by low warm lighting. 

 “It likes to be in the dark,” Damien started, “I took it around the servants corridors once.”

 The Count didn’t react, “It’s a good thing the manor is kept dark then.”

 Damien figured he wouldn’t get to be subtle about the screaming creature topic, but didn’t feel like being direct just yet. Dusty fluttered and turned into a grasshopper and bounced around the table, much to the Count’s delight.

 “Energetic little thing,” he commented.

 “Probably because it ate all the grapes.”

 The Count laughed, apparently finding something funny. The man rested his head on his hand. His light blonde hair took on the undertone of the warm lighting.

 “Maybe it ate all the grapes because it needed energy.”

 “Don’t encourage it. A shadeling only needs shadows and the occasional lost item.”

 “A little treat won't hurt it.”

 “It will if the treat was mine first,” Damien leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

 The Count’s eyes followed the hopping spirit, “Oh so it was thievery, where have I heard that before?”

 “...”

 “A perfect match.”

 “I’m going to bed.”

 Damien got up and pushed in his chair, leaving the very unhelpful book of folklore on the table. The man straightened and looked up, but Damien was out the door with Dusty on his heels before anything else could be said.

Chapter Text

The incoming fall weather had yet to be too harsh on the garden. Only a few early leaves had drifted onto the ground. The weeds weren’t as bad as they had been when he first arrived, but the shrubby-leafy ones needed to be pulled up by the base of the roots, otherwise they would come back in the spring. 

Damien had found a tool shed on the other side of the manor, kept out of direct line of sight from the garden for the aesthetics of the place. The little flower sprout had green in its leaves, and it didn't look nearly as stunted. The fittingly tiny guardian spirit would respond to his call regularly now, he even found some other spirits around the garden. Small beings of no consequence, good practice for his skills.

Dusty was currently hopping around two rabbits, since when were there two?

Damien stopped tugging at the heart of a weed that held onto the soil tighter than the others. The grey rabbit stood on the stone barrier that made this patch of garden bed, waiting to be given the freshly uprooted leaves. But Dusty was also circling around a yellowish tan rabbit that was chewing on one of the shrubs. 

Its jaw kept going in that quick way all rodents went, as it stared at nothing. Dusty seemed greatly pleased at the new addition, hopping around in a hare’s form like the tan one had always been there.

“Stop inviting over pests,” Damien scolded flatly; though Dusty didn’t change its actions at all.

Footsteps caused both burrowers to scatter into the underbrush. Damien felt he should be annoyed by the intrusion, but given who it was, it was unlikely to be pointless.

“You ready?” She asked like it made sense.

Damien got up and dusted off his hands, “I don't think I could give less information if I tried.”

“We are going on a mission,” She had an annoyed expression, though around him she always looked vaguely pissed off.

“Time for that already?” Damien took steps on the cleaned up stone path towards her.

“You’ve been getting ready for weeks now, I'd hope you’ve retained some speck of knowledge, though knowing you, it’s not likely,” she looked him over, “Is there anyway you can stop getting covered in dirt?” 

Damien took a few moments to think something over. When he came to a decision he ran past the guard, making sure to wipe one of his hands on her sleeve on his way into the manor.

She started to yell, “you fucking bastard-” but Damien was already closing the back door before he could hear the rest of the insult. 

The door burst open when he was at the end of the hall. Damien didn’t bother to look behind, as he could hear the footsteps easily enough. He took a sharp turn down into the main hall, then aimed for the stairs. 

He heard the guard grab onto the banister and use it to turn onto the staircase after him. Damien slowed down a little, then when she got closer he hopped over the railing and dropped back down to the first floor. Another well earned insult chased him down.

The guard rushed back down the stairs as Damien was sprinting to the kitchen. He made sure to close every door on the way there, and earned even more distant curses. 

Damien looked around the kitchen for a good way to throw off the trail, in a split second he decided to open the window above the sink and crawl out. He drew back the curtain and yanked up on the bottom frame. The door to the dining hall hit the wall when she flung it open. Damien climbed onto the sink and pulled himself most of the way through. It wasn’t a big enough space for him to also get his leg though enough to rest his foot on the base of the frame.

The kitchen door slammed open, quickly followed by a loud, “the virmisen are you doing?”

Damien pushed off the sink with his legs, and crossed his arms in front of his face for the fall. He hit the ground and rolled until he got into a position he could get up from.

The guard poked her head out the window, “what the fuck.”

Damien stood a good distance from the window, hands on his knees as he worked on toning down the burn in his lungs.

“We still have shit to do, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on,” Damien straightened out after a moment of breathing. 

The guard’s scarred face disappeared behind the window as the curtain closed. Damien walked around the manor to the closest door. When he opened it, the guard ran at him. The two were back to wrestling with no form or structure on the dirt.

She only let the scuffle go on for so long before dragging them both inside. Damien knew there was no point in complaining about the dirty move, not when he lost. 

It didn’t stop him from making other comments though, “looks like you like the dirt as well.”

She glared at him and huffed loudly as she led them to one of the rooms on the second floor.

It was dark as always, with the curtains drawn and the only light coming from candles. Damien wondered if the place had ever caught fire, it would be easy with all the open flames. What a waste of wood that would be.

The sitting room was covered in lounging furniture, all somewhat plush looking. A closer inspection of the colored fabric on the cushions revealed barely visible patterns formed by the fibers being differing heights. The wood frames of the chairs had carved ends to look like swirls. A round table sat in the corner with the company of three chairs. It had a single leg holding it up from the center. The leg spread out into four arches that went back in before spreading back out on the floor as four feet.

Sitting in the shaded corner was the Count, who was currently reading a letter with a green wax seal, and thus wearing his reading glasses. He was dressed down today, like he had just woken up and couldn't be bothered to have full formal attire. The cream shirt lacked an outer jacket, but he still had a dark vest with shined buttons. Golden strands stuck out from his usually tame hair. It was a little odd, but there were more pressing matters.

The guard took a seat on the Count's right, so Damien took the one on the left.

“That took longer than I would have liked,” the guard said, it was as close to a ‘sorry I was late’ Damien thought she was capable of.

The Count waved off the comment, “It wasn't a long wait. I have no urgent matters to tend to anyway.”

He looked up the letter he had been holding and paused whatever he was going to say, and replaced it with “what happened?”

Damien and the guard shared a glance before Damien answered “impromptu training.”

“Ah…” The Count refolded the letter and put it aside, “I see.”

He picked up a different paper from his little pile and laid it out on the table, signaling the shift to a more productive conversation, “There have been reports from Welkin that point to an Unliaric beast living in the nearby forest. To prevent the sun order from moving in and setting up in Welkin, it's imperative that you two relocate the creature.”

Welkin was a small town, hardly worth a note. It was mostly farmland, but It was on the road connecting two major cities, so naturally some of it does cater to travelers. It was a common stop, and the sun order having an excuse to move into it would give them control of a highly traversed path.

He pointed to an area on a town map, the south eastern edge that turned into forest, “It could be in this area, but it’s hard to tell for sure. Either way it should be moved deeper south, “ his finger drew a line off the map, “to the unmarked woodland area around here. Az knows the one. Here it shouldn’t wander close to towns anytime soon, there will be plenty of animals for it.”

It was a simple enough plan, sweep away the sugar to prevent the ants. It was an indirect method, but the best one for an organization without the resources to fight back properly. 

The Count also explained, “You will be going under cover. can’t have the townspeople know why you are really there, can we? So the cover story will be you investigating the decrease in farmer’s products.”

“That’s it?” Damien asked when the Count put the paper away again.

“Im afraid so, there isn’t much detail in what we know.” the Count took off his reading glasses and set them on the table.

The rectangular lenses were connected with a bronze wire that was bent to sit on a nose. It was a simple contraption in design, but one would have to have quite a few connections to even know where to find someone who could round the glass in just the right way. They weren’t a necessity for someone who didn’t spend their day reading documents with little letters anyway.

“Which is why a large part of your job is figuring out what is going on.” The Count continued on, “It’s not ideal, but it’s how it is.”

The guard jumped in with her dry tone, "Luckily one of us has a working mind.”

Damien was halfway tempted to jump across the table, “And It’s the one who doesn’t have to resort to dirty tricks.”

“Like jumping off of the fucking stairs?”

“That was a perfectly grounded trick.”

The Count was quickly looking between them as they ping ponged the conversation, “you did what-”

The guard ignored him entirely and continued “In what world is that a grounded trick?”

Damien retorted, “The one we are in.”

She stood up and slammed her hands on the table, “You are a misshapen weasel with the tact of a snake.”

“It's not my fault you don't have sense to back track quickly.”

“I’d like to see you have sense when I strangle you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

The Count smoothed over his expression and cleared his throat, “You two should start getting ready for the trip. Rations and equipment are already prepared as usual, but you still need to pack clothes and anything else you would like to bring.” He said the last part more for Damien than the guard.

“That’s all,” he started to gather up the small pile of papers with him.

The guard got up from her seat and left, presumably to do as told like a good doggy. Damien pushed the chair back and slid out to do the same. Not that he had much to pack, but he wasn’t going to let the guard beat him. 

“Oh!” the Count said like he had just remembered something, “one last thing.”

Damien turned around to face the Count.

The Count straightened out the stack of papers in his hands, “Since you are going there as my representatives, I figured you shouldn’t be walking around in servant’s clothes. So I left something in your room. When you get back you can fill out the rest of your wardrobe yourself. But for now it should do.”

It made sense, no one wants an unsolid story when they are doing borderline treasonous things. Still it was unexpected. It made the part of him that held back a thank you weary. It was a tactical move.

He tugged on his sleeve before committing to a, “Smart.”

“You have to be when you are doing what I'm doing, a wrong move could unravel everything,” the Count made his way to the door, leaving his glasses on the table, “That’s not anything you need to worry about though, that’s my part in all this.”

“Right,” Damien agreed before leaving to the room he was staying in.

He caught dusty hopping up the stairs in the rough shape of a frog. The small void plopped on each and every step on the way up. Damien waited for it to jump again before scooping it up mid air.

He didn’t have to think about the way to the room anymore, which was odd. He didn’t even remember the walk to his room this time, like he turned off his mind and only became aware after he arrived where he meant to go.

There was a suitcase sitting open on the dresser. The rectangular box had two straps that could hold it closed, and one latch in the middle for the ability to lock it. The outside was a dull reddish leather with bronze corner caps. The handle matched the outer leather, and was made movable with bronze rings that attached it to the case itself. When Damien stepped up to the dresser he saw the case had a light blue inner lining.

Inside were a few neatly folded outfits. Some under shirts, vests, pants, and the like. These were the kind of get up’s he had seen tailors work on while he looked around for any discarded articles that they gave up on. 

He pulled out one of the shirts, the one that was the color of birch with a brown tint, and felt the fabric between his fingers. It was nice. Damien tested the sleeve length, and found it satisfactory. He set it aside on the dresser where Dusty promptly jumped up into the suitcase to look around. Damien pulled out a deep green vest that had just a hint of blue. The buttons had a dark brown coating that matched the tie he pulled out next. The pants had smooth seam lines, and was a slightly lighter brown than the tie.

Damien figured he shouldn’t arrive in town with the current clothes he was wearing. Like the Count had said, it would be a little strange if one of his representatives was wandering around in what barely counted as a servant’s uniform. So he changed into what he had just picked out. 

He stood in front of the mirror and readjusted the tie until he was sure it held up the collar of the shirt well above the marks. Dusty danced around his feet as he triple checked the sleeves. The ensemble fit him better than he anticipated, then again he had filled out more during his stay in the manor. He had found some shoes by the door and switched into those as well.

It wasn’t often he looked so colorful, even if it was mostly neutral colors. The man in the mirror looked unrecognizably alive.

He didn’t dwell on it. Damien places some extra clothes in the case, the ones he was supposed to avoid wearing if he could, but it’s good to be prepared. There wasn’t much else to think about bringing, if all the other necessities were taken care of. He could bring a book to work on, but he was still pissed at the last one, so he decided against it. It meant he was done with packing.

“Come on,” he picked up Dusty, who slipped into the shadow under Damien’s sleeve.

The case wasn’t too heavy as he carried it down. The handle even fit nicely in his hand.

Outside was a familiar carriage pulled up by the front door. The guard was setting different cases and bags into a lockable trunk on the back of the overly fancy thing. The Count was talking to the coachman, who Damien recognized from the first night. It was hard to tell anything about them though, they had a black trenchcoat and hat that obscured most of their form.

Damien carried the case over to the trunk area.

When he tried to put it in, the guard snapped at him, “Leave it on the pile, I don't want you messing it up and then having to undo it and then redo it.”

“You don't think I know how to put a rectangle in a box of rectangles?”

“Shut up and put it in the pile, dobbin.”

Damien wasn’t going to argue with less work, so he set his case in the pile of mismatched dull cases.

Damien stood by the door of the carriage. The new clothes weren’t too hot in the fall weather. He watched leaves fall from the surrounding tree line. Naturally, he noticed the poor state of the front yard flower beds. They were littered with leaves, honestly it’s like no one cares about this place. He added raking to the list of things he should do, and not just to push learning to read further down on that list.

He keyed into the Count’s conversation; it was mostly directions and instructions. The coachman kept silent, but the Count didn’t act at all ignored. He figured it was a common occurrence, and then he wondered how involved the coachman was.  There was no staff at the manor. The servants' corridors were empty except for a creature he would rather not run into again. This was the only other person he had seen who wasn't directly involved with the midnight stance, at least to his knowledge.  Damien realized he was staring when the Count finished talking.

The Count turned away from the coachman, who still showed no signs of listening or understanding. He paused when he saw Damien and didn't say anything for a brief moment.

Damien watched him slip on that smile he always wore, presumably to put someone at ease, for whatever reason, "I'm glad they fit, I didn't know your size. It looks nice."

"I hardly do either," Damien leaned against the carriage door, "It was a good guess."

"yes well, I have to have an eye for detail after all." 

Damien figured it made sense that the Count had been keeping an eye on him. After all, he was still an unpredictable piece in all this. He wouldn't be surprised if the man was watching for any signs of potential betrayal or incompetence.

Damien continued the conversation with, "Shame you don't investigate on the field then."

"I work better from behind a pen," the Count reasoned, "That's why I need people who work behind the sword."

Damien could hear the sound of cases being stacked into the trunk. The pile would be nearly empty by now.

"There are some things I wanted to remind you of before you head out," the Count started, "First of all, secrecy is our top priority, even if it means abandoning the mission. I'm sure I don't have to iterate that point too much to you specifically."

Damien pulled down his sleeve as subtly as he could with his arms crossed. The tie held the shirt collar well above his marks.

"Take your time, this isn't a rush job. Risks are our enemy," the Count went on, " and if there is any hint of the sun order operating there, you two are to leave immediately, understood?"

Damien nodded, like he was a person known to follow rules and restrictions. 

The Count sighed, "Good, more than anything, you need to be careful. Az will take the lead, so there isn't much to worry about."

The guard came around to the side of the carriage after the trunk slammed closed, "all packed up and organized, unlike it would be if a dobbin did it." 

"It's putting boxes in a box, it's not hard," Damien made his way past the Count and to the horses

"You'd find a way."

"You're finding a way on my nerves." Damien patted the pretty grey mare on the nose.

"Well then," the Count interrupted before the duo could start up their usual act, "If everything is taken care of, then you two can be on your way. Remember, on paper you are there to investigate the shortage of farm products on my behalf. Try to stick with that as much as you are able," He again said more to Damien than anyone else.

"I think he gets it," the guard spoke up, "he doesn't need you explaining everything."

"Right," the count took a step back, "I just want to make sure everything goes well."

"You always do." she agreed.

Silence made itself at home for a brief second before the guard opened the carriage door. Damien followed in after her. Outside of the window, the Count offered a final "be careful" before the coachman led the horses out.