ImmortanJoJo

  Lucien About

  Errands were what Lucien had told her he would do. He had pyed it off as if it were no big deal, and at the time, it had seemed to him that it was just the case.

  “You will find the wielder of the dying light beneath the burgundy tile. There you shall seek reconciliation,” the entry in his journal had read minutes before he had bid the echo farewell.

  To anyone else, such a message would seem like nonsense. A pointless scribble hastily scratched into the pages by a hand that never before written a single word. Even then, those who would gaze upon the journal would not be able to decipher its contents. For the words were in a nguage none from this world would understand, not even the echo that was Luna. It was a nguage far beyond any recorded in this world, back before any being upon Enora could even utter any sembnce that could be considered nguage.

  The old speech is what his master called it. Originally known as the Imperial dialect, when there was an empire. Or at least, that is what Lucien’s master had told him.

  Standing on the construction site, he saw that his boots were wet, up to a few centimeters, the water seeping from mounds of melting snow. He took out his journal once again from the eversting pocket of his coat, opened it, and skimmed the message once again.

  “Beneath a tile of burgundy,” He muttered to himself, brow furrowing. His gaze lifted from the pages and scanned the structures around him. It was not uncommon for his master to deliver such vague and sometimes even helpful instructions. In their line of work, such vagueness was necessary to avoid prying eyes whenever they were unable to exchange messages via metal.

  “I may need to find a sheet if possible,” he grumbled and closed the journal and stuffed it away. He spun around the tails of his coat fpping in the wind as he began to trudge through the slushy mounds of snow toward the main road.

  The city of Johanneson had seen better days. After the frostwind struck, many of those unprepared got swept away. Buried beneath the multiple tons of snow dropped upon them. It was like an icy hurricane, wind battered and tore down signs, windows rattled, then shattered, and the thunder roared like none other. The apocalypse seemed to have arrived.

  What was left now was becoming slush and flooding the streets. The wreckage buried beneath it all is now revealed and thawing. Those who weathered what seemed like the end dug themselves out of their hideouts and began picking up what was left. Hundreds worked the streets, men, women, poor, and rich. There was no wealth gap left in this city after the storm; everyone pitched in to help clean up the mess.

  It was an emboldening sight for Lucien. Despite the tragedy of the storm and the horrors from the air raid a day ago, the denizens of the city were working together to pull through this. As he walked, those he passed didn’t show the signs of being broken or scared. Instead, they were furious, determined to right the wrongs done to them. And how could he bme them? These folk had just gotten beaten down by one of nature’s ferocious weapons and somehow managed to pull through. If that didn’t harden one’s spirit, he’d fail to think of what could.

  By this point, Lucien arrived at the entrance of Central Park, or really what’s left of it. It was little just before none, the Summer sun, which he had to keep reminding himself that it was indeed summer, hung high above his head. The ether pumped from the massive generator a few kilometers back at the construction site and was already pouring over this district of the city. Much of the snow was now slushy mounds with vast spaces of brown, green patches of dead grass like valleys between, and the streets were nothing more than lines of shallow rivers dividing it all.

  It was a pretty sight that reminded him of the end of winter, except for the horrendous mud. The massive muck-filled deserts he could see further in the park reminded him too much of home and his time of wallowing in its trenches. Though to his luck, soldiers had already gotten to work on creating a makeshift walkway for those coming in and out of the park. Chunks of wood and pnks were hastily cobbled together to act as bridges over the mucky ground.

  With careful steps, he walked along these paths and observed that what was once a massive camp for refugees was now nothing more than a flooded, mud-filled wastend. Even with the knowledge of the storm coming hours before it did, the number of people who had taken shelter here was far greater than what the city could shelter.

  Suppose the sights along the city streets were emboldening. Here, it was solemn. The dead were everywhere, most piled, others still buried in the melting snow. Around him, the sounds of sorrow echo from those who desperately searched for loved ones among the loss. A few Lucien saw, stood like statues, catatonic, staring lifelessly at the devastation. These people had already lost everything, and they fled to the city, hoping its towers and people would protect them. To get the money to afford a train westward. A beacon of hope at the edge of the tunnel. Instead, they were funneled into a tight, cramped refugee camp only to be swallowed by the frostwind. None of them deserved this.

  Lucien stepped off the makeshift path onto the solid, paved road that wound through the center of the park. Here, he faintly makes out the remnants of the air raid from the day before, as well as what was left of what the locals called “Trentonville,” the tent city named after the regional governor of Johanneson. After all that’s happened, with what’s left, to call this a city still would be generous. All Lucien could make out now were a half dozen tents, a few hastily made hobo fires, and piles of debris.

  He eyed the wreckage around him and those who dug through it. The item he sought would more than likely be buried among the leftover mess here. What he needed wasn’t anything special; in fact, anywhere else he could’ve gotten it more easily. Yet, he could feel something in his chest. Not his heart, or stomach, though admittedly he was a tad peckish, but something in between. His Well, his ether was feeling drawn to this region of the city, as if someone was calling him.

  This wasn’t entirely unnatural to him. Those with vast wells are known for drawing in the power around them. Like celestial bodies, those with more mass contain stronger gravitational pulls, in a sense. Or in a simpler expnation, they’re like sponges. Soaking up all the power within their vicinity. Luna, for instance, was one of these people. However, the individual Lucien felt was nowhere near as powerful as her, not even by a fraction, but compared to the average man, they stood out.

  He was a gangly fellow, his hair long, blonde, and disheveled. From behind, the man appeared young, perhaps in his mid to te teens. Yet when he turned, and Lucien saw the dark cast that was the man’s five o’clock shadow and weary eyes, he knew this was no boy. The man was once finely dressed, but the well-tailored button-down and fine cotton pants were now torn and filthy. His bowtie was undone and hung loosely on his neck, and the rimmed gsses he had were cracked and hung off his neck only by a thin wire.

  The man’s tired eyes met Lucien’s, and they narrowed. “Can I help you, sir?” He asked in constrastingly posh tone. “Are you hurt by chance?”

  Despite not being so, Lucien still checked himself over; he shook his head. “No, I’m not. Thank you for asking, however, sir, I could ask the same from you.”

  The dirty man shook his head, his hair filing like a mop. “Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises my ointments can’t cure…” He trailed off. “Say,” he started, “could you lend me a hand?” He asked.

  Lucien smiled faintly and nodded. “Of course.” He stepped off the paved road and onto the muddied, dead grass and began walking toward the debris pile. Once he was close to the man, he held his hand out. “I am Lucien, Lucien About.”

  The man grasped Lucien’s hand and held it firmly. “Hello Lucien, I am Dr. Nigel Kegan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Lucien’s eyebrow arched as the two firmly shook hands. “A doctor? Medical or…?”

  Kegan smiled and released his hand. “Yes, I am physician by trade.” He turned to look back at the rubble and gestured to it. “This was my clinic, or well… one of them, my main shop I hope is still intact.”

  Lucien nodded. “Judging by how the rest of the city faired, I’m sure your shop is fine.”

  Kegan turned to face him. “Is that so?” His shoulders rexed slightly. “I do hope you’re right.” He looked at the rubble. “As of currently, I’m trying to see if any of my crates survived. I had medicine here that I was using to treat those harmed by yesterdays attack.” He knelt and began to dig through the pile.

  Lucien wiped his hands on his coat tails, knelt beside the doctor, and began to help. The two worked in silence, moving shattered pieces of furniture, bent cots, and soiled canvas tarps. It wasn’t long until Lucien found what he was looking for among the rubble. Beneath a soiled canvas y a metal sheet bent and twisted, yet mostly usable for what he needed. The piece of debris looked like an aluminum tray that had once held Kegan’s tools, Lucien noted as he knelt to pick it up. Scattered around it were ruined syringes and scalpels, which he very carefully worked around. He shimmied the tray out from under the tarp and wiped it off. With a satisfied huff, he set it aside.

  “Say, Mr. About…” Kegan said from behind as he grunted and pulled a hefty box out from under a mound of half-melted snow. The doctor stumbled back a bit, then straightened up and looked at him with a half-smile. “I can’t help but wonder… have we met before?” He asked.

  Lucien pursed his lips and thought back. It was possible with how long he’s been around, as well as how far he’s traveled. Yet, as he dug through his mind, he could not find any such memory of the young doctor. So he shook his head. “Afraid not, why? Do I remind you of someone?” He asked.

  Kegan shrugged as he knelt before the box he had freed. “No, I just recall–” He cut himself off with a snap of his finger. “That’s it!” he pointed to Lucien. “A good friend of mine mentioned someone of your description.”

  This piqued Lucien’s interest, and he turned to face the doctor fully. “Is that so? May I ask who this friend is?”

  Kegan nodded as he began to work the lock on the crate. “A fine serelli woman, her name is Isa. Isa Soza.”

  Lucien smiled. It all makes sense now; that’s why he was drawn to this man. Even now, the Pattern works in ways that even he still has trouble following. “I am aware of that woman, though I have spoke with her little, I am well acquainted with her little friend.”

  “I take it you mean Luna?” Kegan asked as he finally opened the crate and let off a loud sigh of relief. “Thank the gods the vials are all still intact!”

  Lucien nodded. “In fact I am.” He bent over and picked up the metal sheet.

  “I traveled with them for some time,” Kegan went on as he counted the vials. “Luna and her brother worked with me for a week as well in this very tent. Lovely kids they are, though a bit rambunctious.” He chuckled.

  Lucien arched a brow. “Is that so?” He eyed the metal in his hand, then gnced down to his chest and the small lump that indicated his journal. He pursed his lips again. “Dr. Kegan,” Lucien began slowly, “Along your travels, perhaps, have you seen a building with burgundy tile? Perhaps on the roof?”

  Kegan paused and looked up at Lucien with a slight frown. “Oddly specific question…” He mumbled, then thought for a moment. “But… not entirely unfounded,” he nodded slightly. “I do recall, yes. A farmhouse near the Kencha, the army had taken to found a base there, the one in charge there, I forget her name unfortunately, but a woman with beautiful red hair was leading the men there at the farmhouse.”

  “And this farm house had burgundy tiles?” Lucien asked.

  Kegan nodded. “Yes, I believe it did. May I ask what has you so fixated on this?”

  Lucien shook his head. “No. Just a personal matter. You said it was near the Kencha?”

  Kegan frowned and sighed. “Yes, follow eastern highway. It’s pretty much a straight shot.”

  “Excellent.” Lucien spun away. “In that case, I will not be needing this.” He tossed the metal sheet aside. “You’ve done me a great favor, Dr. Kegan.”

  Kegan blinked slowly and looked at the metal sheet, perplexed. “You’re… you’re welcome?”

  Snow crunched beneath Lucien’s feet as he walked beneath the starlit sky. Above him, the beautiful marble that was Radiance shone, its distant blue oceans shimmering. Far off, the distant rumbles of cannon fire echoed throughout the expanse. With every hour that passed, the sounds of battle would fre and seemingly, just as quickly, die off.

  He was nearing the front. It’s been two days since he st spoke with the doctor and gathered his lead. For two days and two nights with hardly any rest, he walked. Lucien was no ordinary man, for his body didn’t really require the same functions to work as most mortals. Yes, he ate and sometimes slept, but in reality, those were merely done to keep the facade he liked to dispy in check. Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy partaking in some of these facets of life.

  With a bit of spirimantic magic and some ether, he can bargain for seemingly limitless amounts of energy, allowing him to move swiftly without the need for rest. What would’ve taken a normal traveling man four days of movement, rest, and so forth. He could make it in seemingly half that time, or faster if so wished.

  However, speed wasn’t what he was going for here. Lucien was in no rush, in fact, quite the opposite. He needed to keep an eye out for the farmhouse Kegan had described. A glint of light from above made him pause. It blended in with the stars, then pulsed and grew rger. Lucien smiled faintly as a yellowish-white orb descended before him.

  “Bonjour, mon ami. You’ve returned far sooner than expected,” He said to the little wisp and held out an open palm.

  The little orb of light lowered itself onto his palm and pulsed rhythmically. Lucien took a deep breath, nodded, and closed his eyes. His fingers curled around the little orb slowly, cupping it, but not squeezing. It then shone brightly in his fist, warming his hand, as the two seemed to fuse.

  Lucien’s eyes remained shut as he allowed the wisp to become one with him. In return, he felt his well draining as visions pyed across his mind. He could now see what the wisp had seen. Kilometers ahead were the remnants of a refugee camp, now deserted, further onward, a military outpost and heavy fortifications. Yet what stood out most to him was the two-story farmhouse between the two camps. Trenches surrounded the farmhouse, watch towers, and weapon empcements. Yet the most striking feature of all was the burgundy roof tiles.

  Lucien slowly opened his eyes and uncurled his fist; from it, the little white orb reformed and pulsed happily. He chuckled. “Had your fill?” He asked, and the orb fshed repeatedly; his smile broadened, and he beckoned it upwards with his palm. “Well, go on, if you want more, you need to work for it.” He waved the little wisp off, which soared high into the air, twirling, then spinning, before finally darting off to the east.

  Cannon fire rumbled from the east. To the untrained ear, it was easy to mistake the noise for distant thunder. The fshes on the horizon could’ve been mistaken for lightning. Yet, it wasn’t. Muffled cracks of rifle fire, followed by the chattering of machine gun fire, only to reach its climactic whoosh of a spell discharging, made it very clear that it was no ordinary storm.

  Lucien began to walk in the direction of the fighting, Radiance’s light, and the far-off fshing of bombs being his only form of guidance. It wouldn’t be for another hour when the dim lights of ether mps and campfires were visible. Backlit among them, being a two-story farmhouse like that from the wisps' vision, the second-story window facing west glowed faintly with a blue light coming from its room.

  From where Lucien stood atop a small hill, he could see soldiers standing watch and patrolling this te into the night. Few marched as duos or trios, nterns held as they moved up and down the camp’s perimeter. Others could be seen working within trenches, widening them out, and packing the walls with heavy sandbags.

  The camp itself had been spared the onsught of the frostwind that the Veinrites had sent their way. It wasn’t entirely surprising to him; Lucien knew that it was common for Hein’s Guard brigades to be outfitted with a mage or two. A spell such as the frostwind would’ve warranted them the opportunity to step in; however, it seemed that none were strong enough to dispel it fully. Nonetheless, it was impressive that such a rge detachment managed to get out seemingly unharmed.

  For some time, Lucien watched from a distance. He noted down the routes that patrols took, and counted how many he could see from his vantage point. Roughly fifty men and women, he could make out, were awake and moving about the camp. A small handful of them, roughly ten or so, were stationed around the burgundy farmhouse. One in particur, a rge fellow, much bigger than a human, seemed to be of a higher rank than the rest, but he was too far out to make out any more details. That is, until his little friend from before returned.

  Appearing like that of a firefly, albeit a bit plumper, and far too fast for one. The little wisp of light from earlier zoomed over the grass toward Lucien. Within a meter of him, the little ball of light unched itself upward before doing several energetic loops.

  “Now, now,” Lucien hissed with a smile. He held a hand up as if this would calm the little spirit that began zipping around him with boundless energy. “You’ve done well, little one. But if you want your reward, you must come to me,” he said softly and held out his open palm.

  The little orb stopped unnaturally in the air a meter or so from his face. Though the little thing didn’t have a face, at least not in this pne, he could feel it eyeing him. The wisp pulsed briefly, then, gracefully, drifted down onto his palm. Lucien took a deep breath and began the ritual again.

  He closed his eyes and cupped his fingers around the wisp, and opened himself up to it. Together, their energies seemed to pool, the two becoming one. In doing so, he could feel the hungry little wisp consume the ether he stored within him, and in return, he obtained its sight.

  At this moment, Lucien found himself in the sky, soaring among the birds, high above the moonlit world. Beneath him, he could see specks of light from campfires and mps, not just from the military encampment, but from all over the nd. He could feel the cold air rushing past him, hear the wind howling, and feel free. Moments like this, he cherished with his spirit friends, having the ability to fly so freely, for a brief moment, he could feel the joy that they always seemed to bring, but…

  Lucien stopped himself there. This power, while useful, was dangerous. The tantalizing allure of melding one's mind with another, so free and whimsical, was just that: alluring. One too many times, he had allowed himself to indulge in the spirit’s free will. Not this time, he had a job to do.

  Steeling himself, he allowed the wisp’s memory to py out, and as he did so, he took notes. He learned very quickly that his assumption of there being a powerful mage here was correct. When comparing the damage caused by the frostwind to the rest of the ndscape, this encampment looked like a perfect, circur cutout from the rest of the valley—an untouched oasis among a frozen hellscape.

  From this new vantage point, Lucien was able to more thoroughly map out the guard patrols and counted an additional thirty men and women he hadn’t seen prior. Finally, he was able to pinpoint a specific route among a series of trenches north-west of the farmhouse that appeared to be less guarded. Now he wasn’t worried about being seen, but he would rather not deal with anyone else if it could be avoided. Acting always seemed to drain him.

  Having what he needed, Lucien was starting to feel groggy as the little wisp in his palm went to town on his stored-up ether. The little thing was unquenchable. Opening his eyes, he broke off the tether between himself and the wisp, and immediately, as if out of protest, the little orb escaped his clenched fists and began to pulse vibrantly before him.

  “Hey, hey!” He waved the little nuisance away. “I paid you more than we bargained for, be grateful.” He huffed as the orb shimmered and seemed to calm. It lowered itself to be eye level with him, and once again, he could feel its attention on him. As well as a smugness?

  He sighed, eyed the ball of light. “You did well, thank you,” he said, not exactly knowing if the thing understood him or not. Though a part of him felt it could, to a degree that is. In response to his words, the orb pulsed pleasantly, and he smirked. “Stick around, and you might get more, little one. You’re too useful, you know that, right?” It pulsed happily again, or at least, that’s what he thought it did.

  Before he could ponder this further, the wisp zipped away, though this time straight up. Flying high up into the stars, before eventually, Lucien couldn’t tell them apart. With a sigh, the man shook his head and yawned.

  “Little bugger drank too much, hungry bastard.” He shook his head. He’ll need to rest a bit before going down to the camp.

  It was easy going walking into the encampment. This forward operating base, while heavily patrolled, seemed not to take any heed of a man like Lucien walking among their trenches, and that’s exactly how he liked it. Of course, he couldn’t bme them for not noticing, or if they did, not caring. He intended for it to be like this.

  Having once been a military man himself, Lucien was aware of the customs and attitudes of those around him. Believe it or not, many militaries across the globe, or even on other globes, are all simir to a degree. Also, a bit of magic can go a long way with selling a disguise and premise.

  Having traded some more ether with his insatiable little friend of light, Lucien was allowed to bend his image to fit whatever best suited his environment. In his case, this wasn’t too much. Already, he wore a fitting army uniform from his time that closely resembled that of the Hein’s Guard, save for its blue hue. Tinting this grey wasn’t so hard, and to top it off, he fitted himself with the three triangles on his right shoulder, signaling his rank as Senior Lieutenant.

  Most lower ranks who saw him coming immediately did their best to avoid him or simply salute. Just as he wanted, he made his way through the rear defensive line toward the farmhouse, trudging his way through the mud and dirt that caked the trenches. To sell his image more, he would bark at the occasional soldier he deemed as cking. To their credit, many of the men and women here, especially in the backlines, were ever vigint.

  Which, again, after the prior night’s event with the storm, he couldn’t bme them. Already on the horizon, he could hear distant battles raging. It only made sense that the Veinrites pnned to bury their enemy in snow, then walk over them with those horrid fighting machines.

  It wasn’t long until Lucien reached the edge of the defensive line and climbed out of the trench, the farmhouse clear in view by only a handful of meters. Two guards were stationed at the front porch door, rifles in hand, held tightly to their chests; they stood at attention, perfectly still. Confidently, Lucien strode up the walkway towards the entrance.

  “Evening gentleman,” Lucien said, masking his accent. Now was the time to sell his story. During his brief rest before making his way into the camp, he cooked up something in his journal that, while simple, was believable. “I have urgent matters from headquarters that I must discuss with Colonel Hass immediately. This is of the utmost importance.”

  The two soldiers eyed one another, then looked to Lucien, unconvinced. The one on the right, a younger, tired-looking man, who looked more like a boy, really, spoke, “The Colonel has instructed us that she is not to be disturbed at this time…” He squinted and cocked his head slightly to look at Lucien’s rank. “Lieutenant.”

  Lucien blinked and frowned. He straightened up and gred at both men. “While I understand it's te, ds, as stated, this is urgent. As lives are at stake, now, I order that you let me in to speak with the Colonel.”

  “With all due respect, Lieutenant,” The second guardsman said. “We are not obligated to follow your orders; we report directly to Colonel Hass. Now unless you can provide documentation that–”

  “This is absurd!” Lucien roared, partly in act, but also a bit of legitimate irritation. “We are at war, ds! I do not have time to wade through bureaucracy to report that things to the south are dire!” He shouted, and out of the corners of his eyes, he noticed heads turning, and this was exactly what he wanted. “Open your ears, boys, and listen!” He hissed and allowed them a moment to take in the sound of far-off gunfire and eruptions. “People are dying,” Lucien snarled, “And the information I have can help stop this bloodshed, if you’d just let me in–”

  “That will be enough,” A new voice cut in, and the front door of the house opened. The two soldiers turned and immediately snapped salutes to the woman in the frame.

  Lucien also snapped into attention and saluted, not that he knew who he was saluting, though he was smart enough to put the pieces together. Standing before him was a tall, half-elven woman; her features were sharp and smooth, and her hair was bright red, kept short. Her tired, yet stern, green eyes flicked from each man before falling onto Lucien.

  Her leather-gloved hands adjusted the buttons on her smoothed grey uniform, which Lucien noted was decorated from her upper chest to her waist with medals. “Edgar, Thom,” She addressed the men. “You’ve done well at your jobs; however, this one I’ll accept.” She nodded to Lucien. “Your orders still stand, anyone else, keep them out until morning.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” They both said and saluted once again.

  The colonel’s eyes narrowed on Lucien. “You, come with me.”

  The door clicked behind Lucien as it closed after he followed the colonel into the farmhouse. For a building serving as a forward operating base, he was surprised at how quaint it still felt. Upon entry, he was standing in a wide living room, connected directly to the kitchen, with a dining room at the far end. In the living room, a rge stone firepce was lit, a sight not commonly seen nowadays with the advent of ethereal heating and lighting.

  Colonel Elin Hass began to walk toward the firepce, and to Lucien’s right, where the staircase leading upwards was, he could hear footsteps coming down. To his surprise, three serelli women came down all dressed as maids. Their outfits were bck, long and flowing, and covered the front with a white apron. Each of their hands was folded behind their backs as they lined up beside the firepce beside Elin, who was currently stoking the fmes, and yet had said nothing.

  Lucien watched silently as he quietly stepped into the living room behind them, slowly making his way toward the rge sofa in front of the window. After a few awkward moments of silence as he took a seat, one of the maids spoke.

  “Lady Hass, we’ve finished with the upstairs,” The girl said hushedly.

  “Thank you,” Hass said, and went quiet once again.

  Lucien frowned as he watched the three girls remain silently beside the woman. From what he could see, something didn’t feel right: the exchange, the way the woman walked. It seemed robotic. Taking a deep breath, he saw no harm in rexing back into the seat, his right hand reached up to his jacket to grab his watch, and that’s when he felt it. How he hadn’t seen this at first astonished him, and what’s more, how she had masked the presence bewildered him to no end.

  It was like a switch had been flicked; the power was turned on. The visage that the little orb of light had given Lucien poofed from existence. One moment, he looked like himself in a grey uniform; the next, he looked like himself in blue.

  The force struck him like a wave, not physically, yet spiritually. Like with Luna or Kegan earlier that day, he sensed the power within them. With Luna, she seemed like a bottomless pit, ready to be filled. Kegan was a man who seemingly had great potential, yet this energy, this was like the sun itself had exploded in his face.

  Elin Hass rose from the firepit and turned to face him. Her eyes were studious, and a pleased smirk stretched across her lips, and Lucien felt his core tighten. Something about her expression seemed wrong, yet he couldn't tell what. The air seemed to chill, as if the roaring fire could do nothing against the ice that was beginning to form around him.

  Then, she spoke, “That was quite the show you gave, Kadriel, Herald from Beyond. I am happy to see you again…”

  The world then seemed to fade around him.

  ImmortanJoJo