It took much coaxing on part of both artists to get the fox to strike an agreeable pose for the painting once Bubico’s validity had been established. Eventually, they had Nikolas stand sideways with one hand resting on the handle of his broken sword and the other hidden behind his cloak. Clarisse sat on the wall as before with her skirt billowing slightly in the breeze, looking up at her companion with a grin.

  “Perfect! Just stay like that for a little bit…” Bubico called out as he imbued colors into the fabric, switching between fingers wildly as he overlaid hues on each other.

  Clarisse’s gaze shifted back and forth between Bubico’s eccentric fingerstrokes and Nikolas’s blank stare, quite excited to see what a painting of them would come out as. Nikolas on the other hand, was facing another issue entirely.

  “I???????????????????????g??????????????????????n?????????????i????????????????????????t?????????????e????????????????????????? ???????????????????????????u???????????????????????????s??????????????????????????????????!???????????????????????????? ??????????????????????W????????????e??????????? ??????????????c???????r??????????????????????????????a???????????????????v??????????e???????????????????????????? ??????????????????????????t???????????????????o????????????? ?????????????d??????r??????????????a????????????????????????w???????? ??????????????????????????????b?????????????????l???????????o?????????????????????????????o??????????????????????????d??????????????????????.??????????????????????????????.????????.???????????????”

  The fox tightened his grip on the handle of the broken blade and pushed it firmly into its intricate sheath. The voices continued to plague his mind, ever-growing in their intensity while his hand rested on it.

  “?????????????S?????????????????P????????????????L???????????????????????????A???????????????????T?????????T?????????????????????????E???????????????R???????????????S???????????????????? ???????????O????????????F?????????????? ??????????????????????F?????????????????????L???????????????????E????????????????????S???????????????????H???????????????????,????????????????? ???????????????????????????????M??????????A????????????????D???????????????????E?????????????? ???????????????M??????????????????????A?????????????????S?????????????????T?????????????????????????E??????R???????????P???????????I??????????????????????E????????????????????????C??????E????????????????!????????????????”

  Nikolas tried to move his hand off the handle discreetly, but was immediately chastised by Bubico for it. “One moment, I’m almost done! Please stay still for just a little longer…”

  "?????????????L??????????????e????????????????t??????????????????? ?????????????u????????????????s???????????????????? ?????????????????f??????????????????e?????????????????????a???????????????s??????????????t????? ?????????????????????????????o?????????????????????????????n???????????????????????????? ?????????????????????????h?????????????????????????i????????????????????????????????s?????????????? ??????????????????????????????????c??????????????????????????????o???????r?????????????p????????????????s????????????????????????e?????????.???????????????????????????????"??????????

  The kitsune had half a mind to listen to the voices coming from his blade. He let his hand slide down the handle and latched the blade to its sheath with his grip, reminding himself to resist giving into their bloodlust.

  It was another few minutes before Bubico was finally content with his painting. With a thumbs-up, he finally let the pair relax and approached them eagerly to show his work.

  Clarisse ran over to meet him halfway, excited to see the results. Her expression lit up in amazement as she held the fabric in her hands, running her fingers over the cloth imbued with her likeness. “Wow – the colors doesn’t feel wet either…” she thought aloud, expecting it to at least have some sign of being recently altered.

  “Indeed!” Bubico exclaimed proudly, attracting wayward glances from busy merchants and passing businessmen. “Not having to wait for colors to set is such a lifesaver sometimes,” He beamed, before diverting his attention towards Nikolas. “Wouldn’t you like to see it too, Mr. fox?”

  “I’m good, thanks,” Nikolas nodded, instead gazing back towards the shore across the river from them.

  “Another joins the few recorded instances of our existence. A great victory, I must say.”

  “I’d rather that we remain discreet. That’s the whole point of this expedition.”

  “Worry not! The day I return, we shall be stained into every historical text to come after.”

  “He’s… awkward like that sometimes,” Clarisse shrugged, patting Bubico on his shoulder for encouragement when the artist courted dismay at his muse’s rejection of even looking at the canvas. “What are you looking at anyway, Nik?” She approached him, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention.

  “Can you stop gloating for one day–!? You have a bigger mouth than what’s good for you.”

  “‘Tis your mouth too, is it not?”

  “At least I know how to use it.”

  “Bah! You’d make for a terrible dictator.”

  “Why would I even want to –”

  “Because we hold the power to bring this kingdom to its knees!”

  “This again – I’m done with you…”

  Nikolas found Clarisse standing by his side as his attention returned to the present time. She was looking up at him with expectant eyes, as if he had been asked something. “Hmm?”

  “What’s so interesting about the view?” She huffed, crossing her arms as she faced him. “You could at least look at the painting once.”

  “Sorry, I should,” Nikolas relented, finding the space for humility once he had rid the voices off of his immediate focus. “Bubico, wasn’t it? Can I call you Bub? I’d like to steal a peek at what you made.” He approached the blonde artist with a far more amiable demeanor than before.

  Clarisse raised her eyebrows at Nik’s sudden switch-up, not expecting her insistence to work that easily. Still, it brought her joy, knowing that he was willing to listen to her. She now found herself in his place, gazing at the view of the city on the other side of the wide bridge. At first glance, it seemed to be just the same as the city behind her. Then, she caught glimpse of a simmer in the air. Confused, she blinked a few times and squinted her eyes to make sure she was seeing things correctly.

  Behind her, Bubico was taking the opportunity to interact with his muse quite well. “Do tell, what lies under the mask?” He asked, trying to peek at Nik’s neck and see if more of his face was visible from underneath.

  “Wouldn’t it ruin the value of your work if the secret was so easy to learn?” Nikolas chuckled, shifting away from the prodigy’s curious eyes with backwards steps. “What are you doing in Mernilk, anyhow? Did some merchant employ you to make exhibits for them?”

  “I’m actually on a tour of Ignisvell!” Bubico announced with an air of gusto to himself. “I’ve been meaning to make tapestries of the entire continent for some time now, to show everyone how life varies from city to city.”

  “Huh… then why include us in the shot? We’re just passing by ourselves.”

  “I want to capture the most authentic moments I can!” Bubico smiled, looking down at the colors etched into canvas. “Something natural like this… I couldn’t help but want to immortalize you in my work. Even if you’re passing by, the scene was set perfectly!”

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  Nikolas blinked in blank fashion, somewhat taken aback by being described as natural. It was certainly a strange quality to favor, but he was grateful for it. “I suppose that’s true.” He nodded, before turning back towards Clarisse, who still seemed captivated by whatever lay beyond the bridge.

  Clarisse glanced back at them doubly, wearing a confused expression. “Hey,” She beckoned them ahead, standing by the edge of the bridge. “Does anything feel off to either of you when you focus on the far side of the city?”

  Unfettered by the strangeness he had already spotted once, Nikolas stepped onto the bridge and began walking across. His ears stood on high alert as the sight before him began to change subtly when he reached the middle. “It should be safe, but there’s definitely something’s up.” He concluded, seeing as he and anything else passing via the structure remained unharmed.

  As the trio moved to the opposite embankment, the color in their surroundings began to fade into grayscale. The tall merchant guilds and busy cobbled roads morphed into deteriorating homes and oddly empty patchwork roads of dirt with occasional stonework present. It was as if all the life had been forcibly sucked out of this part of the city, a stark contrast to the scene they had crossed over from. All over the disorganized landscape, structures that could barely stay standing lay scattered with little care for comfort or safety.

  “What??” Clarisse rubbed her eyes and looked back at the bridge they had crossed to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. “It looked just fine a moment ago!”

  Bubico had a far more horrified reaction to the scene which had unfolded. “Fie! This part of the city must have been cursed by some terrible wizard – imagine living without color!” He knelt down to grab a handful of dirt, and watched the dull grayness slip through his fingers with dismay.

  “Perception altering magic,” Nikolas grumbled in a low tone that revealed mixed emotions of concern and disgust as he considered the implications of the disparity between both parts of the city. “There’s a lingering spell over this entire area, hiding its reality from outsiders.”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Clarisse thought aloud as she approached one of the empty homes and peered inside through a broken window. There were scant signs of life visible in the room – a rickety table barely able to stand with a missing leg, and a torn up, possibly infested mattress thrown to one corner. “This barely looks livable…”

  “Probably because this is where all the labor force lives,” Nikolas hypothesized, heading back towards the river to estimate how far the bereft portion of the city stretched. “Or rather, they live here because of the state of the place.”

  “It’s affected my work too!” Bubico declared, shuffling through his bag with trembling fingers, seeing that his works had lost their vibrant hues as well. “Oh Thened… I’m colorless!” He lamented, checking all over himself to try and find a speck of color.

  “We need to get to the bottom of this!” Clarisse shared his sentiments, looking towards their kitsune companion for further support.

  “We?” Nikolas asked, finding his inclusion uncalled for in the qualm of both artists. “This is bad, sure, but not our problem. You can’t just go around and mess with lingering spells like that either! These things are always unnecessarily complicated…”

  “You are an adventurer, are you not? How can you live with such injustice around you?” Bubico challenged Nik before shifting his focus to Clarisse. “Imagine how the people here would feel if they got to live in color once more!”

  Clarisse found herself conflicted between both sides of the argument. “I don’t know anything about lingering spells, but this feels more like a curse on the land. We should at least ask around to see if we can do anything to help.”

  “Spells like these can be dangerous if tampered with…” Nikolas let out a sigh, careful not to let too much slip in Bubico’s presence, curious as he was.

  “I shall head back then,” Bubico’s hands trembled while holding the discolored fabric. “I have some friends in the guilds here with whom I need to confer on this… It is certainly troubling, but I cannot bear to see my work bereft of life.”

  “We’ll check out things over here!” Clarisse nodded with confidence seeing that a plan had formulated itself between them. “Let’s all meet here when we’re done.”

  Seeing as the pair were headed in either direction without consulting him further, Nikolas followed Clarisse at a discreet distance – far enough to not be immediately associated with her and yet close enough to intervene in adversity.

  The district reeked overwhelmingly of acrid tanning oils, wood shavings, rancid fat and the occasional mildew. Unlike the public-facing cityscape of Mernilk, the area was dotted with a multitude of workshops. They passed by tanners soaking knee-deep in chemical vats, smithies heating and quenching steel, glass-blowers and seamstresses cooped up in small, patchwork houses and the occasional abandoned almshouse, home to deleterious addicts. Anything that didn’t have a foundation about a decade old looked like it would collapse like a house of cards in a stiff breeze, built within the bare minimum of means that they could afford.

  Clarisse was plenty wary of the uninviting posse of inhabitants whose attention she claimed merely by existing in those streets. Her companion, however, could have easily passed for one of the people if not for the nonchalant confidence in his stride and tall ears gracing his head. The simplicity of his leather armor and attire helped him blend in with the locals to some extent, but it lacked the perpetual membrane of grime which they all seemed to have an affinity for.

  Taking high steps to avoid scattered feces and other garbage, Clarisse kept walking through the winding paths, in search of anything which showed a semblance of order and establishment. She tried to meet the eyes of people they passed by, but none of them seemed amicable enough to approach… that was until she caught a brief glimpse of a child carrying a box across the verandah of a forge. She paused, recognizing the texture and shading of his clothes from earlier in the day. “You’re a paper runner in the city. What are you doing here?”

  The boy was quite startled at her sudden intrusion towards the forge, almost dropping the box of assorted wooden and iron pieces he was carrying. “What? Oh – Ma’am, I remember you! Where’s the other sir who was with you?” He asked eagerly, glancing around her for any signs of Nikolas.

  “Yeah, we met you in the morning,” Clarisse replied, glancing back to check for Nikolas, although his discreetness seemed to be too effective to be found. “I thought you had a job in the city.”

  “I do, and I live here, Ma’am,” The young boy explained, placing the box down and taking off his cap, a gesture of general respect. “I’m helping at my uncle’s forge. He makes the best weapons in Mernilk! Please step in and check his wares!” In the region mired by unsavory moods and downtrodden atmosphere, his enthusiastic sales pitch felt almost infectious.

  “Oh,” Clarisse’s eyes glimmered with excitement as she entered past the open door to the ironclad establishment which led into walls of various weapons on either side. “We were looking for a good workshop, so this is perfect!”

  “ASHFORD!”

  A deep voice boomed from within the forge, alarming her. The boy, presumably Ashford if the voice was to be believed, ran towards the back room to deal with it. She could hear their conversation in bits and pieces, mostly discussing her arrival and the boy’s keenness at hosting a high-paying customer. Clarisse took the opportunity to explore the wares on show, paying particular attention to the shorter blades.

  She unsheathed the dagger Nikolas had bought for her from Richardson’s as she walked by, comparing its make to the ones before her. Even several minutes of scrutiny however, performed by untrained eyes, led to no new conclusions.

  “I should ask Nik to teach me more about blades and how to take care of them.” She thought to herself, remembering the whetstone in his possession. Casting her amateurishly critical gaze aside, she found herself gravitating towards the larger, grander weaponry in the far end of the shop.

  There was one sword in particular which caught her attention, a saber with dull-black coloration instead of the reflective sheen that the others boasted. It was on show in exactly the same manner as the rest, but Clarisse couldn’t help but feel drawn towards it. Its weathered aesthetic made her curious, curious enough to reach out towards the curved edge near its tip. She was about to make contact with it when a firm grip on her shoulder brought her back to the moment.

  “Don’t. There’s something wrong with that one,” Nikolas warned her as he pulled his arm back, keeping to a low volume. “There’s mana collecting around it, probably a curse.”

  “R-Right…” Clarisse muttered, feeling a shiver run through her body. She hadn’t heard him enter, or feel him close by at all until he decided to make it apparent. Looking back at the saber, it no longer elicited her curiosity in the same way. “I found that kid we bought the newspaper from. This is his uncle’s shop.”

  “Indeed, it is,” A cough echoed from the backroom as a tall, bald yet bearded man entered the showroom. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, clad in oversized protective gear which hid his figure under the thick layers of sweat-stained clothes. Behind him was Ashford, who let out a gasp at spotting Nikolas. “Hey, mister! Uncle, this is who I was talking about! He gave me that gold coin!”

  “That was very generous, thank you,” The blacksmith nodded towards Nikolas, taking off one of his thick gloves and offering a handshake. “Can't leave the youngins to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, now can we?”

  “I help when I can,” Nikolas replied, accepting the blacksmith’s firm hand. “Nikolas. Clarisse,” He introduced them in the least words he could and a head tilt towards the redhead.

  “Cezarius. I understand you’re interested in purchasing weapons… ” He waved his arm towards the walls on either side. “I can mend your existing weapons, or replace them with better ones. What do you have already?”

  “Actually, we wanted to learn about what happened to this place first…” Clarisse interjected, redirecting the focus to their surroundings. “Why does everything look washed out, devoid of color? Did something bad happen here? Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Ah… ” Cezarius let out a sigh, thinking about how to approach this. “You'd best take a seat, all of you. Come on inside. It’s uhh... a strange story…” He beckoned them to follow, retreating into the backroom with Ashford in tow, flashing an excited smile at being included.

  "Even if we can't help... I'd like to at least know more about this curse," Clarisse muttered to Nikolas, who remained just as motionless as he usually tended to. "Then we can pick out a new weapon for me!"

  "This is suitable." Nikolas replied curtly, and his eyes darted towards the dull-black saber before lowering to his own blade. Flattening his ears to pass under the doorframe, he followed Clarisse into the depths of the forge.

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