Window of lost time

“Here we are” Ametrine said after hours of march, finally drawing to a halt.

Opal wasn’t sure about what exactly she was expecting, but it wasn’t that, even though it made sense if she thought about it.

Located in the hinterland of the south-western part of the kingdom, on the slopes of a mountain range and in the middle of a rocky and barren land, the Saintess’ house was less of a place of residence and more of a glorified cluster of rocks with coloured windows. Everything, from the walls and the roof to even the door, was made of colourful and different stones, which were with all probabilities moulded and sculpted by the magic of the Saintess’ herself, but it seemed like the earth had risen like an ocean wave and then left in its wake that construction. The house architecture aimed at pragmatism – a bit like Ametrine, so maybe that was a family trait – and wasn’t as elegant as the buildings in the capital and in Smaragdos, but it was still an impressive amount of work.

It would’ve probably been an even more imposing place, even though it probably wasn’t very spacious, if there weren’t monsters of different shapes and forms literally munching on the rocks it was composed of as though they were nice appetisers. The state of the house was dangerously close to becoming pitiful, with all the damage that those creatures had done.

“What…?” Opal frowned, confused. “Why are they eating the house?” Where were they, in a fairy tale? She would’ve maybe understood if it was made of bread, cake or sugar, but rocks?

She was in the middle of reasoning that maybe rocks were the monster version of candies, when Celsian answered. “Remember when I told you that the Golem can absorb soul stones? Well, it does it with any kind of rock, in order to gain power, and its creatures can do that too, since they are created directly from its body.”

“They are the collective nightmare of our beautiful kingdom” was Rutile’s comment.

“Now we do not have any more time to discuss this, though.” Ametrine, always focused on her objectives, unsheathed her sword. “The situation was not like this the last time someone came to check on the state of the house, we have to correct it.”

The civil servant nodded seriously. “You do that, I’ll cheer for you from here.”

Ametrine didn’t even spare him a glance before grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, to his clamorous protests. “You are coming too.”

“Oh, no no no, I hate this, those monsters will get dirt on my clothes again, and I’ll have to wash them again, and-” he continued to complain, his lament something loud and clear that the knight royally ignored. Sadly for him, she had decided that his magic was way too useful in combat for him to stay on the sidelines.

“Less babbling, more battling.”

And with that, she got into the fray with Rutile in tow.

“See, they both made a friend” Celsian commented, shaking her head with a smile. It was surely a way to see it. “Anyway, let’s go.”

Opal nodded, and they imitated the other two. She found herself face to face with a group of creatures with vague animal features, and decided that it was a good occasion to put into practice what she’d learned with Celsian, as well as the few tricks that Ametrine had thought her. From the ground she created a multitude of stone lances, of which a few fatally hit the clay monsters; she then detached and grabbed one of the spiky weapons – that was heavy in the beginning, but became lighter when she used her magic on it – in order to exploit it against her enemies. She didn’t have a good control of it, though, so she abandoned it pretty fast before getting hurt. Instead, she focused on her arms and transformed them into sharp swords, that she extended or shortened depending on the distance between her and the creatures. After her limbs returned back to normal, she made sure that her comrades weren’t at a dangerous range and tried a last trick: she aimed her magic at the tip of one of the lances, making it detach and hover in the air, and then she drove it against the clay monsters as if it was a radio-controlled car. When they all fell on the ground, returning amorphous lumps of rocks and mud, her last weapon of choice did too and she breathed deeply, her muscles relaxing.

Around her, her companions had defeated all the other enemies: now the exterior of the house was painted with clay, but at least it wasn’t all that different with how it was before.

Celsian, as usual, was the first to notice what she did. “Hey Opal, good job back there!” she complimented, giving her a thumbs up.

Ametrine nodded. “You have gotten better.”

“Thank you” Opal answered. She had still a long way to go before getting at their level, but she was still pretty proud of herself.

“Yeah, yeah” drawled Rutile, dusting off his clothes and looking critically at them. “No-one appreciates me, though, even when I’m risking the intactness of my wardrobe for you all.” He tried to clean the lens of his glasses, only managing to shift the dirt around.

Celsian rolled her eyes, forever amused by his complaints. “Well, you know, you can always return to your job, where there are lots of people who appreciate you.”

He got pale all of a sudden. “… on second thought, I think I prefer the battles and the dirt.”

Opal snickered, while Ametrine, in an effort to remain professional, hid her own bout of laughter behind the falsest cough anyone had ever heard, quickly shifting the attention on another topic. “Come on, let us enter” she said. The door too was a slab made of stone, but she just looked at it, raised the sword she hadn’t bothered sheathing and quite literally cut the entrance into pieces with a few precise strokes of her blade. “There, please come in.” She made a courteous gesture with her hand, stepping aside to let them pass.

“Your graceful ways always manage to astound me” Celsian commented with an amused smile.

Rutile was a touch more befuddled. “Why did you cut down the door?”

The knight shrugged minutely. “I have never had the key to this house, and we did not have time to think of another method.”

Rutile hid his face in his hands, shaking his head. “I give up.”

They got in, and Opal’s eyes widened in shock. She stumbled, feeling wrong-footed and weak in the knees, not only because, if the exterior of the house was imposing, its interior was an example of magical prowess, but also, and especially, because she felt like... she felt like- “I remember this place” she breathed, without thinking.

“What?” Ametrine replied, frowning. “How is that possible?”

“Is it some other Saviour nonsense?” Rutile inquired.

“No, it’s-” Opal turned to the thief, who was looking at her with worry painted all over her face. “It’s like with the stained glass, Celsian.” She shook her head. “It’s-”

Memories, a voice that was her own, but that didn’t seem so, suggested.

Dreams, memories, an ocean of déjà-vus.

Opal felt suddenly light-headed. She felt like she was walking on clouds, like she could’ve fallen at any moment. She felt like she wasn’t in her body anymore, like she was only watching while someone else was piloting it.

“Hey there”

She brought a hand to her head, noticing in that moment that on the sole table present, obviously made of stone and directly attached to the floor through its legs, there was a single notebook, open to a page in the middle. She got closer to it, conscious of the others’ stares, that were following her movements with various degrees of concern, but ultimately insensitive to them. As soon as she was close enough to read what was written on the page, however, she felt faint and had to lean on the edge of the table not to fall.

“Opal?”

That was Celsian’s voice, sounding worried, but Opal couldn't turn back, couldn't speak – like in her memories, like in her dreams –, because, while the words and phrases on the notebook were complete gibberish, …

“Why are you here, all alone?”

… the one staring back at her from the page – silent but sure, unmistakable, like a sentence – was her own handwriting. She remembered that place, of course she did, because she’d already been there.

“Shouldn't you have gone too?”

Her eyes widened, terror and shock dancing inside her at the rhythm of her pounding heart. She hesitantly touched the paper, those inky letters, and suddenly, inevitably, flashing images and instances of life flooded her mind.

The girl in her memories was smiling at her.

When Opal saw her for the first time, the girl wasn’t smiling, not at her nor at anyone. She looked as stony as the rocks she used in order to fight, a heaviness to her features that couldn’t be simply lifted with some rest: her lilac eyes held no light within them, her long wavy blue hair tore at the wind like a whip, her dusty armour was forever stained with blood, her crystal sword was crusted with hardened mud. She was a lonely Saviour, a fabricated Saintess. She had slain countless monsters and beasts, and seen the same amount of comrades-in-arms being slain by them; she had defeated the Golem, and nearly killed Opal too, when she was still new. She hadn’t, however, seeing in her incompletion the potential for something greater.

“You can come with me, if you want.”

And now she was smiling at her, albeit a bit awkwardly, after having taken Opal’s clay hand, humanoid but only vaguely, in hers.

“Oh, right, how impolite, I forgot to introduce myself” she said suddenly, looking down at her. “My name’s Agata Calchedonius, nice to meet you.”

Opal couldn't speak, she would’ve needed some time to mimic that particular ability, but tried anyway.

“… We’ll work on it, don’t worry. For the moment, we’ll just make do with what we have, what do you think?” she asked, continuing to smile. “Eh, Little Golem?”

(Opal fell from the edge, directly into that ocean of cracking glass, and it hurt.)

She screamed.