The Night Will Fall Again

“You’re too tense.” Tyffeon complains. “No, don’t loosen your grip. Hold it tight.”

“Ughh…”

    I can feel a droplet of sweat run down my neck.

    In an isolated spot near an ancient orchard, Tyffeon stands near me, eyeing me with a bit too much dedication, if I may observe.

    He’s been so focused on teaching me the right position that I haven’t yet shot an arrow. Unfortunately, Tyffeon isn’t exactly the best teacher I could hope for. I find his advice rather contradictory.

“So should I be tense, or not? I don’t get what you expect from me…”

    A sigh. His. Not mine.

“Just…” He trails off, stepping behind me. “Hold it like this.”

    His hand covers mine on the bow, applying a certain pressure I have to mimic, rectifying the inclination of the bow.

“SO CLOSE?!”

    This is only to correct my posture. I am fully aware of this, since he wouldn’t possibly come this close to me for another reason. The only moment he got this close to the Saintess in Kingdoms of Sin was, well, to stab her.

    Still, it’s almost impossible to disregard the warmth of his chest against my back. It’s. Like. Obviously there.

“So, can I shoot now?” I mutter, more for the sake of saying something and focus on my voice rather than by sheer impatience.

“No. Make sure you place your other hand correctly.” He pauses, guiding my moves. “Under your chin, this way…”

    Adjusting the angle, I might as well do my best so that he makes a step back and that I can finally breathe. Of course I’m holding it back… ‘Wanna fight?

“Now.” He breathes. Lucky.

    At his words, I release the arrow I’ve been holding tightly in-between my fingers. The string, releasing the pressure it’s been keeping, propels the thin stick straight into the tree trunk in front of us. As the black head sinks into the bark, it sends vibrations along the wooden part of the arrow.

“Not that bad.” Tyffeon comments, stepping back. Allowing me to fill my lungs with dear air.

“Heheh, see. I’ll soon be able to one-shot my enemies.”

“So you haven’t lost your tongue after all.”

“Huhh?”

“I was wondering if a catgirl got your tongue.”

    The supposed barb makes me raise my eyebrows.

“My, I didn’t think you would miss my voice so quickly.”

    He clicks his tongue.

“It’s simply surprising of you not having made any debauched remark until now.”

    So you DID notice the situation was embarrassing. I hate you.

“I… I was just thinking about what we have to do next.” I avert my gaze. That is not completely a lie, though.

    Tyffeon doesn’t reply, silently prompting me to continue.

“For now, let’s blend into the city. We can’t watch each one of their moves, but if we’re able to gain their trust, the inhabitants of Makhlubi might give us the hints we need…” I turn my gaze back to his. “Let’s continue to train ourselves and be ready to intervene.”

    In the game, after the Hero decides to defend Ard Ramalia and, by extent, the other kingdoms, he begins to train himself. Focused as he is, he doesn’t notice the harbinger of the tragedy. Sometimes right before his nose… But when the sin is committed, it’s too late. He has to kill the emissary.

“I guess that’s not completely senseless.” Tyffeon nods. “In that sense, finding a work would even allow me to kill two birds with one stone. Our finances won’t last forever, and since we can’t count on the ruler’s support…”

    It makes me feel uneasy… Tyffeon has been paying for everything until now. Of course, as a Stars’ Crosser, I have no currency from this world.

“I’ll do this as well.”

“Not in this city.” He sharply protests.

“But-”

“Don’t.”

    A few steps away, Awa sleeps peacefully, perched upon my satchel. Sometimes I wish I were an owl. This seems more restful as a life. Though the idea of spending my nights chasing rodents seems less dreamlike.

“I can’t always depend on you.”

    Picking another arrow in my quiver, I resume my training.

    For a while, he says nothing. Merely observing me in silence.

“You still don’t trust me?”

    The arrow I just released whizzes until sticking into the black sand. I turn an innocent smile at Tyffeon.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tssk.” He steps forward, closer to me. “Don’t play this little game with me. Tell me what you really think. What is on your mind?”

    Am I this bad at pretending? My thoughts are a mess. I don’t understand… I learnt to conceal everything people didn’t want to see. When have I become a failure of a clown? Have I always been? Is this why my friends abandoned me?

“Night is falling, we’d better return to the centre of the city.” I bypass him, intending to retrieve my bag. But at the same moment, he turns around and catches hold of my wrist.

“I helped you to escape Rathard, I accompanied you until the Holy Garden. When the rulers turned their back on you, I offered you my help. Isn’t this enough?”

    I clench my teeth.

    He’s not lying. He has too much of a sharp tongue to fool anyone. This is part of why I appreciate him that much. He’s blunt. A rare proof of sincerity.

    Sometimes, people are honest when they say they won’t betray you. I think sometimes they truly don’t want to do so. That they intend to stay friends for even longer than they can think of.

    But…

    I reach out to grip my pendant with my free hand, pressing it into my palm.

    One day, these words end up losing meaning in their mouth.

    I may be a clown, but I’m not enough of a fool to believe someone. Not any more. Especially when this person is clearly fated to betray me. It is my choice to stay by their side despite that. I can offer my friendship, I can offer my love. But believing I’ll get anything true in return?

    As if.

“Tyffeon, back at the inn, when you were busy with the Drac, I drank from your glass.”

    I can’t tell him that I wrote this fate and that, even outside of the game, I never could avoid it.

“Haah?” He frowns, lost.

“It’s an indirect kiss.”

    He releases my wrist, stiffening.

    A smug smile is what I give him, glancing back at my favourite victim.

“Let’s return to the main streets.”

***

    When we reach Makhlubi’s edges, the luminosity is already declining. The merchants have returned to their houses, the growers have regained their beds. For them, it is time to refill their energy.

    As we approach the main place, though, more and more people are flocking, of all races. Dracs, Druks, Beastmen, Knockers. Even a handful of Daoine Sidhe, who probably weren’t in Tír-nan-cnocc the moment the drama happened.

    Sounds of flutes and harps fill the air, replacing the warmth offered by the Sun at daytime.

    A series of red and orange tinted huge glass spheres are aligned on each side of the road, lighting up the streets. Banners of fabric hanging along the different truncated pyramids are lit by letters of some sort of golden painting, not visible under the light of the scorching Sun.

    Makhlubi is bustling, the night is thriving.

“It’s almost unbelievable how lively it is there in comparison to the day.” I comment, impressed.

    By the entrance of the buildings, delicate hands tap in rhythm the canvas of a drum reaching their waist, not larger than the latter. Along its thinning base, intertwined lines, patterns of mixed colours.

    Behind the bystanders I notice women aligned along the corridors. I can’t see them distinctly, but they are all of stunning beauty.

“Indeed. Even if I was aware of that, it’s unsettling.” Tyffeon begins, staying close to me. “While most kingdoms are rhythmed by the rising Sun, Ard Ramalia is by the setting Sun.”

    By the side of the road, a man hypnotised by a horsewoman holding his chin from the tip of her index finger.

“Then this is our best chance to gather information. Let’s go inside!” I motivate myself, turning to the entrance of an establishment.

“Oi!” Tyffeon calls, but as I step away from him, it’s another voice which gets closer first.

“Look at what we have.” A suave, yet firm voice raises. “If it isn’t the Saintess.”

    As I stop in my tracks to turn my head, my eyes fall upon the silhouette of the horsewoman. Dressed with long, oversized translucent sleeves and a long skirt of thin purple fabric, her exposed belly is bordered by a large golden belt covered with precious gems. The only elements somewhat covering her chest are the thin, numerous golden sticks hanging from her large necklace. The latter covering up to her shoulders.

    Her complexion, paler than the Beastmen’s, makes only more blatant her affiliation to that sunless kingdom.

“Our chief has told us about your venue.” She mid-closes her sunstone eyes, reaching out to place her hand against my arm. “You will now come with me.”

    Wait. Wait, wait, wait!! I have a bad feeling about this.

“And why should she?” Tyffeon intervenes, placing his hand over hers.

    The horsewoman casts him a depreciative look.

“Would you dare to defy Kitsune’s orders?” Her words make my eyes widen. I can feel Tyffeon’s grip tighten. “Her hospitality has its price. Speaking of which…” She glances at Tyffeon’s hand. “I don’t think you have enough gold to touch me.”

    Her free hand rising above her head, she snaps her fingers.

    In no time, other women appear behind Tyffeon, dragging him away from me.

“Wait!”

    Despite his protests, the horsewoman brings me along with her, into the depths of the neighbourhood.

    Into the depths of Ard Ramalia… Where the day belongs to men, and the night to women.