Neon

  About half an hour has passed. The rain had stopped, and damp and fresh air was. The sky was clear, but her mind wasn’t; it was as covered by clouds as the sky was. The shadow of the dome’s ribs was over her head.

  As her eyes wandered, looking over the street and peeking at the old manor with its doors blasted open, Neon noticed someone under another shadow, a cold and chilling reflection. It was impossible to ignore her. After all, not many walk around the old city with a sword at their waist and blood on their chest. The woman walked out of the shadows as she slowed down. Her yellow jacket moved with her steps like the bow on an erhu.

  She stared at Neon with her amber eyes. Emotionless yet somewhat comforting, as if she were a statue of someone kind and gentle. Neon was waiting for her to speak, and from what she could tell, the stranger was about to speak, mouth half opened, but no words came out of it.

  “…My Euthian is not very good, but is that still the headquarters of messengers?” She said, pointing towards the church in an accent that Neon had never heard of, most of the vowels she spoke were more…stronger than the Euthian Neon knew. Although there were words that didn’t make sense for Neon, the woman’s Euthian was far from bad, but she still stuttered as she spoke.

  “It is.”

  “Thank you. Your Euthian is really good for a Siyuenese-”

  The stranger stopped as she noticed the manor. Neon could tell that she was confused, even with her face covered by the shadow of the Dome’s metal ribs.

  “…Was anyone in there?” she said as she unsheathed the sword at her waist. Its blue reflection shone under the shadow, blue as a star in clear nights that she could only dream of seeing in Songhua, but a mundanity in Euth.

  “There are two people in there-”

  The stranger grabbed Neon by her wrist, her hand was warm, and before Neon said anything, she was dashing with the stranger. Her grip was tight.

  “Wha-”

  The stranger frowned. She spoke no words, but whatever she was doing, it meant for Neon that inside that house was not something Acryl could deal with alone. Can the person with Acryl assure their safety?

  The inside of it was dark. From the slip of light that crept into the open door, Neon saw the chaos and mess within, it also smelled like a burning pile of books and the parts of Songhua and Grand Dome she would avoid going to. The scent that she would’ve associated with the yelling of drunkards, breaking of vases, and perhaps even screaming and calling for help.

  Only that inside the manor, there was only silence. Silent, as if the vase had already broken, the call never echoed, and the drunkard was too drunk to say anything.

  The girl beside her, however, seemed unbothered.

  “Do you know what that building is?” the stranger suddenly asked as she stepped into the manor with Neon. She noticed that the woman’s pronunciation became more familiar to her.

  “No?”

  “…It was where the First Mephisto kept his naive creations and ignorant mistakes after he realized the soap he made was too big,” she explained.

  “But, must I go with you?”

  “Must you not? I promise you, it is safer with me.”

  Neon sighed. Did she even have a choice without breaking any promises? If she reported it to the messengers, she was sure it would cause more trouble than solving one. Staying outside would only let her heart burn even more.

  “Fine,” she said as she tried to calm her breath.

  “May I ask your name? I have many questions to ask after this.”

  “Neon, do you want me to spell it?”

  “…Neon…huh….this word and name didn’t exist back then.”

  She did not elaborate, only letting Neon’s hand go as she snapped her fingers. Right before Neon had let her mind digest the stranger’s answer, a light shone. It was a light similar to a paper lantern people would light and let it float in festivals, but it felt as if the lanterns stayed and were bound to the ground.

  Neon searched where it came from; it was the girl’s Realm-art, certainly. Then she found it.

  It was…things. Things that she could only describe as…stylized, reforged, and…unreal.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  They were not like the abnormality she would’ve met in Siyue, but somewhat similar to what lives in the deep sea.

  One of those things approached her, it was about as big as a dead man’s head. She was half-afraid to touch it, but her curiosity won. The surface of it was paper-like and smooth. It was ghostly, animate yet dead at the same time, reminding Neon of masks and face paints.

  As she was wondering what the lantern was, the girl had already walked away, onto the stone and stained short staircase.

  She stopped at the end of the stairs. There was a crosswalk, one to the left and another to the right.

  Neon stood next to her as she inspected the two sides. There were no marks and no signs of fighting or other concerning matters.

  “…Do you feel it?” the girl asked as Neon noticed her gripping the sword harder.

  “You don’t have a Realm-art, do you?”

  “I don’t,” she answered as she glared at the sword.

  Neon tried to feel her surroundings, but her vision was limited as the ghostly lanterns only lit up that many areas, she tried to listen, listen to the creaking of the floor as she balanced herself, her heartbeat and the wind whisper, she felt the tingling chill that was somewhat similar to days when the heating was broken and the days when night came too early.

  Then she heard it. Cracking and stomping, following a beat similar to a waltz.

  “Creation of the Starseeker and its servant,” the girl beside her spoke as she turned around.

  Neon looked in that direction- the dim light of the lanterns lit their face, and the creeping light from the doors drew their silhouette.

  “Rosemary!” one of the silhouettes exclaimed. Her voice was airy and familiar to Neon.

  Rosemary? As in Lily’s Brotherhood, like Acryl’s Thyme?

  …

  Nameless didn’t like the scent.

  The scent of an Existence, she hated it. Especially, the Starseeker. She never even liked the title, Why seek?

  But the figure was familiar, and the voice especially. Then Nameless noticed the sword in her hand that she was about to return to Suiming. The runes, it read:

  “I write down letters denying my creator, but I know, words won’t burn out desires. And the sorrow I carry will forever fuel me.”

  “Sorrow,” she whispered in Yellian. Sorrow indeed, the source of their powers.

  “A Letter-Writer.” Nameless made out the syllables in modern Euthian. It was only one day after Suiming taught her the pronunciation, but the sprout of complaint about the spellings and silent letters was already growing.

  The Letter-Writer? How did they know my location?

  There was another man besides the Letter-Writer, but Nameless did not care.

  She pointed the sword toward the Letter-Writer as she glared at Neon, her hand stretching toward her. Nameless noticed the dull light in Neon’s eyes. What was that emotion called? Oh…fear…just like when I saw myself in the mirror.

  From the contour of light, she noticed the Letter-Writer pointing her pen toward her. Nameless leaped from the staircase as she focused on the seal. The seal of that piece of the Unknown Existence. She carefully let a tiny slip of its powers out. Nameless was afraid, afraid that the emanation of it could go out of control.

  Whispers within her heart echoed. It was speaking again. She felt her heart and soul snatched by its invisible hand, like the time she once fell into a lake, trying to catch a gift that had fallen into it. What it whispered was still alien to her mind, but she couldn’t breathe; only one thought remained- swing the sword in her hand.

  Blue flames were burning as she approached the Letter-Writer. Air bent as her powers emanated. The floor melted as she swung the sword. They came alive, animated into forms between mundane, dead beings and the arcane, alive, a mixture of imagination and reality. But Nameless trusted her sword better.

  One strike, another one hit the ground as Nameless’ creations surrounded the Letter-Writer. She stepped aside, slid and ducked, and saw through Nameless’ false strikes and her tactics. Nameless noticed a smile on her face as the Letter-Writer danced under Nameless’ blade and between the obstacles of her creations.

  Right when Nameless wondered if she had let her sword art rust, a flower bloomed under her. Then another, the blossoms covered her surroundings. She noticed the flow of Realm-art concentrating on the flowers.

  “Break,” Nameless whispered as she stomped her foot. The ground she stood on waved like water. As she turned the very base, the dead soil of the arcane flowers into her creation, under her governance, the blossoms turned into dust.

  The flame of Letter-Writer was still burning. Its heat and light painted a blue hue on Nameless’ face. Through the flame, she saw the eyes of Letter-Writer. Seeing through the flickering light, Nameless saw the excitement in it.

  But she didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t the first Letter-Writer she dueled, and Nameless was sure that it wouldn’t be the last time.

  The strongest caster of Euth

  She trembled as she endured the heat, pushing her hand through, handshaking the sword’s handle, and sending the sword through the flame and into the flesh of the Letter-Writer.

  “I’ll keep it,” the Letter-Writer said, holding the blade as blood streamed out of her.

  “Servant of the Starseeker, why are you here? I would not be convinced that it was only a coincidence. A thousand years have passed, yet I do not see the rot within the messengers go away.”

  “…Rot? Read my runes, Rosemary. Has Suiming not taught you what happened during your slumber?” The Letter-Writer said in Old Euthian, taking off her sunglasses. As she took it off, Nameless recognized her- Iris.

  The scent was similar to that of Existence wafting by Nameless’ nose. Messengers would’ve associated it with the starry night of Euth, but Nameless won’t. Each Letter-Writer carries a scent, curse, or blessing from the Starseeker, and paired with their pens, they could not be ignored. One of the pens was a gift made by Nameless herself when she had trust in Letter-Writers, but the trust quickly broke as that Letter-Writer became another tyrant. The pen was then broken in a battle.

  “How deep has the Starseeker cursed you?” Nameless asked, her hand grabbing Iris’s hand that held the fountain pen, pinning it against the wall.

  “Cursed? No, Rosemary, I am a curse,” Iris said as she grabbed Nameless’ shoulder.

  “Sorrow. Whose sorrow did you carry?”