Reborn From the Cosmos

Arc 8-33 (Lucas)

The destruction of the city had imparted many lessons on those that survived the tragedy.

They learned the meaning of power. Before, the average citizen didn’t bother to differentiate between hunters, as one sword could kill them the same as any other, no matter the supposed skill of its wielder. They didn’t understand the Hall and the casters that paid literal fortunes to pursue mastery there, seeing no difference between a small fireball and a large one. They didn’t comprehend power until they watched a single creature raze their home in a matter of hours, the hunters they never bothered to differentiate before powerless to stop it.

They learned how little a title meant. To commoners, nobles were untouchable beings who resided in a separate world. Their authority, and that of the crown, was as overwhelming and undeniable as a towering mountain. It wasn’t a matter of strength. In their minds, it was simply unthinkable for a noble to be harmed. The grander the title, the further removed they were from mundane troubles.

Except, they weren’t. The Teppin family, counts that had governed the city for generations, had been unceremoniously ousted from their shattered city. The villain responsible for the destruction took their estate, slept in their beds and ate their food; it was no different from the banditry the lowliest members of the kingdom feared on the outskirts of civilization. It was an affront to the kingdom, to the natural order. And yet, no one had done anything about it. No one even thought to do anything about it. The saints hadn’t struck the crazed noblewoman down for her arrogance. 

Nobles were just people, who could die and suffer like any other person. They also wouldn’t bother to care about the people they were meant to protect when in the midst of their own troubles. It was common knowledge that the lord had left the city and he hadn’t even bothered to address his people in their hour of need.

As someone born into a family of hunters, Lucas had already known such things, but there was plenty for him to learn as well. The most painful lesson was that of convenience. Namely, how convenient his life truly was. Growing up making extra money by cleaning the blood from the floor after monsters were butchered and running messages between the guilds, Lucas never thought of himself as privileged. He grew up in the guilds, and that gave him connections, but never favoritism. He had to pay for his training and he had to bleed for his skills. And, like most ambitious men of limited means, he resented his circumstances, always wondering what his life would look like if he was born with fate-defying talent or noble blood.

His desire for more had blinded him to how good he had it. It was the simple things. He never imagined how inconvenient a lack of roads was. Amid all the problems plaguing the city, it was incredibly minor but it was a pain getting anywhere. What used to be mostly well-planned lines were now an obstacle course of varying complexity. Going anywhere needed the ability to navigate complicated terrain and had to be done on foot. There were few roads intact enough to accommodate a carriage and all of them were to the north, where the damage was minimized. Moving between the damaged areas of the city was a nightmare, even for the more athletic hunters.

A truth punctuated by what had to be the dozenth curse from his team, a quiet hiss behind his back as someone tripped over something. Navigating the city was especially difficult at night. It was easy to get turned around without the buildings people were used to using to navigate. The debris was also dangerous, ranging from mild annoyances that they tripped over to falling pieces of buildings that could be lethal in the wrong circumstances.

It was miserable and a circumstance they shouldn’t be enduring. The meeting between the surviving hunters in the city should be a more formal, solemn affair that took place in a well-lit building, over tea and whatever food they could scrounge up. They should be doing what they could to rebuild their guilds, holding onto their society with desperate strength. 

Instead, there were fools running around setting fire to the last remnants of the hunters’ reputation, calling themselves rebels. Lucas would prefer the Traditionalists taking a stand against the idiots. Better, they should wipe them out; he felt it would go a long way toward improving their strained relationship with the city. But instead, they were being dragged along in the rebels’ ridiculous game, skulking through the night like rats.

Lucas understood. There weren’t enough of them left that they could afford to leave anyone behind. They needed manpower, even if the only men left were shadows of themselves, broken by the circumstances, and madmen. They needed unity. But that didn’t stop it from being distasteful.

The company didn’t make it any easier.

“We should have taken the alternate route,” a hard voice grumbled at Lucas’ back, making the man close his eyes as he channeled patience.

“The ‘alternate route’ is our escape route in case things go bad. As I explained many times before, I would rather we run over easy terrain while fleeing, should it come to that.” He couldn’t imagine dodging a fireball while navigating this mess.

“Why would we ever flee from these imbeciles?” the voice continued. “That’s the problem with the uninitiated. Of course someone without ability would feel threatened by trash.”

He knew it was a bad idea but Lucas stopped anyway, turning around. The rest of the procession, seven other experienced hunters, came to a sudden halt. And at their head was the biggest pain in Lucas’ ass since dodging falling buildings.

Growing up in a hunter family, Lucas knew the guilds had secrets. There were whispers of a guild within the guild, elites that protected their traditions. As a boy, he thought that meant they were a policing force. It was common knowledge that the guards were useless aside from helping pets out of trees and wrestling drunks. He thought they were a secret force that ensured that the hunters didn’t abuse their power.

When he was older and had proved himself more reliable, he heard whispers from the more senior hunters. He learned the name of the group, the Traditionalists, and that the traditions they protected were not vague rules of appropriate behavior, but something more literal. Something…powerful. But that was all he could learn. 

The Traditionalists were very insular. It was composed of a few families that passed their secrets down to their children and no one else. Only a handful of people outside of blood were permitted into their order and only because of their exceptional talent; the privileged individuals born with two affinities or the prodigies that took to martial pursuits like fish to swimming.

Not for common stock like him.

Or, it wouldn’t have been. The destruction of the city had created an opportunity. Death and division had left gaps in the Traditionalists’ numbers. Space that an ambitious man could fill. His luck was compounded by the fact that he’d been close to Jacoby during the battle. The old caster’s dwindling influence, due to his age and his lack of interest, had swelled as the floundering members of his cabal looked to him for guidance. The old man needed dependable people and that was one thing even a common man could be. Lucas was in the right place at the right time. There were plenty that resented him for it, people that were frightened and envious of a foreign element’s sudden rise.

Chief among them was the man scowling at him, face shadowed in the gloom of the night. Candor looked like every other hunter, with a strong body and patchwork equipment. His bald head was his most distinctive feature and his dark eyes were always narrowed in a glare. He wasn’t anything special but his family had been a part of the Traditionalists for generations. Like the nobles and their “special” blood, Candor believed that his family meant he was entitled to the secrets of the guilds…and no one else. He hated the thought of Quest’s elites opening their doors to opportunists. He looked down on those who were being used to fill the cracks. And he never let Lucas forget it.

Normally, Lucas ignored the man, but the last thing he needed in a delicate negotiation was Candor’s biases ruining the dialog.

“This isn’t about fear, or being in the know, or whose dick hangs longer. We were given a mission to negotiate with these people. We are supposed to be convincing them. If we can’t do that today, the last thing we should be doing is worsening the relationship between our groups. It doesn’t matter if we can fight them because we won’t be fighting. Even if this is an ambush, we will use our full power to retreat. Anyone that does anything else won’t have to worry about the hunters. They’ll be dealing with me.”

While he hadn’t been born into the Traditionalists, he had worked hard for his power. No less harder than Candor, who, despite his ego, had the same average talent as Lucas. He stared the man down and the other hunter was the first to look away, though the sneer never left his face.

The other hunters looked properly cowed so Lucas let the matter drop, continuing to guide them to the meeting point. Eventually, their path became less arduous as they neared the square. Lucas’ eyes flicked over the surroundings, looking for signs of danger. He needn’t have. The rebels made no attempt to hide their presence. As he entered the mostly flat rubble that used to be a bustling market, he found them arranged loosely. Armed, which wasn’t a good sign, but not overtly threatening. He searched for signs to distinguish them but they were a homogeneous mass of suspicious gazes. All except one.

The man stood out. It wasn’t just that he stood at the front of the crowd; Lucas thought he would have stood out wherever he went. His appearance wasn’t too outlandish, though it was strange to see a clean-cut appearance these days. The rings on his fingers and the heavy gold necklace around his neck were rare, dangerous to wear in a city full of desperate people, but no more ostentatious than what nobles usually wore. His olive tone was unusual in this part of the kingdom and his long, braided hair wasn’t a common style for men, but that would only garner a glance at most.

What made the man stand out was his presence.

Lucas couldn’t pinpoint what it was that gave the man such an aura; a straight back and a proud chin could only take one so far. It couldn’t have been power, as he had met plenty of powerful people that didn’t have the same gravitas. He almost wondered if it was a spell, though Lucas had never heard of magic that affected someone’s charisma.

Whatever the cause, when the man focused on him, Lucas felt like hands were pressing down on his shoulders and a worm was wriggling in his gut. It was the most intense dread he’d ever felt in his life and it swelled the closer he got to the source. By the time they were close enough to converse, it took all of Lucas' willpower to maintain a pleasant mask. There was something wrong about this man. Something dangerous.

“There they are. The emissaries of the founders, the keepers of knowledge and the protectors of the future.” The man’s voice was pleasant and well enunciated, like someone taught to speak by a tutor. “I admit, I doubted the esteemed guardians would grace us with their attention. How the mighty have fallen.”

Not a great start. “I’m Lucas Macklemore.”

“You may call me Sin.”

“…a peculiar name to take.”

“The name given to me, I’m afraid. My mother didn’t welcome me into the world with a smile and love.”

“My condolences.”

“I don’t need them and we aren’t here to discuss my past. We are here to discuss the future, are we not? So, let’s discuss.”