doing. I think he wants to train as a magi, but the way my father talks, he’s too old to start now,” Azrael conveys, shrugging his shoulders.
“True, but even so, we’re going to need all the help we can get,” Geist admits, turning his hands over with the point.
“It will not be enough. I assure you,” Garo adds with a sinister chuckle.
“Bring him tomorrow. Tell your father I’ll smooth it over with the old man,” Geist concludes with a smile. Ignoring the internment banter of the angry spirit grows easier with each passing hour, though the passive aggressive threats are not entirely without credence.
“Alright!” He agrees, turning to his friend to see that they are in agreement. “Thanks—“
“Geist,” his friend harshly interrupts, jabbing Azrael with an elbow and subtly glancing around. “Were you even paying attention? Alias’s from now on.”
“Ouch, I know,” he nods, rubbing his arm.
“It’ll take some getting used to all around,” Geist laughs as his line proceeds. “Until tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” his companions reply in near unison. Something about the way they look at him fills the young magi with pride. He has risen in the eyes of peers and mentors alike through recent events. A growing number of people are beginning to rely on him, and the feeling is not wholly unwelcome. It would seem that obligation is not the tragedy he has long convinced himself it must be. With very little thought, he decides he will enjoy the burden while it still weighs upon him so lightly. Raising no fuss when his turn comes, Geist proceeds through the checkpoint rapidly to meet up with his stubborn friend.
“We received a report of a suspicious person in the area,” the guard explains, attempting to pacify the unruly citizen, though his condescending tone does the opposite. “Therefore, we’re being extra careful at the moment. We would appreciate your cooperation.”
“Whatever,” Cale chuckles, unconvinced. “If they were going to attack, you’ve given them the perfect target with all these people lined up,” he points out, shifting his eyes over to find Geist gesturing for him to wrap it up.
“I might have guessed,” the solder muses as he glances over to find the very man who gave him trouble this morning. Geist takes solace in the fact that his friend finds the hopelessly dutiful guard every bit as intolerable. His need to exit the city limits departing as his friend arrives, Cale decides to walk away from the whole situation. “All of that and you’re not even passing through? You’ve got to be kidding,” the guard agitatedly shouts at him.
“Looking for me?” Geist asks rhetorically as they step away from the lines, ignoring the guards complaints.
“You two had better watch it,” the soldier barks, pointing a threatening finger. “We don’t need any troublemakers. Not right now.”
“Who do you think yo—“ Cale starts, spinning around in an instant.
“Got it,” Geist winks, grabbing his friend and starting away once again. “Let it go, we’ve got bigger fish to fry,” he adds under his breath. Reluctantly, Cale agrees as they continue out of earshot to converse.
“So what is it then?” Geist asks, curious as to what would provoke his friend to travel so far just to meet with him.
“I’m thinking about telling the castle what I’ve seen. If I’m convincing enough, maybe they would let me talk to the King, or at least the steward,” he conveys, desperation radiating from his words. “Considering everything that’s happened, they must know there is something to what the Subrosians have been preaching, and this Garo Robe business? I need some answers.”
“All manner of knowledge you could require was in our words, if you but listened,” Garo sighs, seeming to feel genuinely sorry for Cale’s state of mind. “Now you will all learn together in the hell you have brought forth.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Geist admits, regretting his earlier skepticism clearly having push his friend into this position. “I have a lot to tell you, but first, I want to ask you to join us.”
“Join you?” He responds with a twisted face, blindsided by the offer. “You mean the tattoos and magic club?”
Without warning, the special forces unit charges past them in a stampede of heavy boots and clamoring armor. Spinning on his heels, Geist spots a Subrosian oddly prancing toward the checkpoint from the forest to the east. In moments, the regiment has him surrounded, spears and swords hovering inches from the hooded figure, itching to plunge into him. The figure seems to trip, dropping to all fours in a panicked gesture of surrender.
“Something’s not right,” Cale mumbles, not quite able to put his finger on it. His eyes dropping to the ground as he listens intently, his suspicion is quickly validated when he spots a group of laughing children at the forest’s edge. “It’s a prank,” he whispers to himself as the situation suddenly becomes quite clear. “It’s a prank!”
“Even your children mock the robe,” Garo growls from within his glass prison. “They deserve their fate.”
“What?” Geist asks, gradually putting the pieces together himself. The hooded figure flails about on the ground as the soldiers shout their final warnings, thoughts of revenge in each of their hearts. “Wha—“ he starts, becoming animated though he isn’t sure what to do. “Wait!” The amateur peacekeeper finally shouts, dashing several steps closer as his tattoo begins to glow. Several of his signature spheres spill from his hand, quickly coiling around his wrist in a rapid spin before he flails his arm forward, launching the spectral ring into the hostile group. The Subrosian finally manages to hoist himself upright, and an instant later, Geist’s orbs spin around him in a protective ring. Only three of the elite soldiers remain undaunted, stepping forward and stabbing at the would-be terrorist from all sides. Flicking his arm upward parries all three of the spears simultaneously as the rapidly spinning ring becomes a halo, each of the attackers thrown back a step by the unusual defense.
“Geist! Look—“ Cale starts, the warning coming far too late.
“Don’t interfere,” a deep voice bellows from overhead. A massive shadow envelops the reaver before he has completed turning around to face the new threat. Instinctively recalling the saddest thing his mind can conjure in the moment, Marta’s face after the suicide attack allows Geist to rip a mighty wall of ice out of the ground as a forearm larger than his entire body sweeps down upon him. The beast of a man smashes through the defense, transforming the wall into cold confetti as he sends the magi skipping along the dry earth. The spiked spheres protecting the robed zealot dissipate an instant later, and the regiment encircling him parts to allow their commander access. Keeta, captain of the Ikanian army, approaches with heavy footsteps, absently shaking the wet shards of ice from his absurdly large arm. The juggernaut of a man is triple the size of the mightiest warriors the citizens have ever seen. The entire kingdom has heard tales of his stature, but the myths and lore fail to encompass just how enormous the reclusive man actually proves to be. A stillness falls over the area, everyone staring in awe as Captain Keeta stands over the hooded figure.
“Stooooop!” Cale’s voice pleads, charging toward the scene. Stepping out from the crowd, Azrael’s tattooed form glows green as he thrusts an arm above his head. His friend quickly follows suit, thrusting an open palm into the dirt as his body emanates an earthy, orange hue. The ground surrounding the alleged Subrosian tilts outward, tossing every member of the elite squad off their feet, save for the captain, who doesn’t so much as flinch. A spiral of wind originating from beneath the hooded figure spikes upward, ripping the robe apart and sending it skyward as the identity of the troublemaker is revealed. A young girl seated upon the shoulders of a pudgy boy of similar age stare dumbfounded as their ruse has been exposed. An elaborate mess of wooden planks and rope allowed their illusion some credence, but the crowd remains dumbstruck until Captain Keeta turns away unapologetically, and begins to march out of the area.
“Play time is over,” he announ
ces, his tired face tilted in the direction of the recovering Geist as he passes by. “Chase your ghosts elsewhere, and stay out of our way.” A clenched fist rises languidly as he addresses the soldiers in his wake. “On me!”
“Sir, yes sir!” The squadron promptly declares, falling into formation behind the captain. Painfully climbing to his feet with a helping hand from Cale, Geist makes his way over to the approaching duo who ultimately thwarted the disaster. The group of laughing children have long since fled into the forest, but the pair responsible for the debacle are overrun by the angry group formerly waiting in line. Parental voices scold them thoroughly while the peacekeepers regroup a short distance away.
“You alright?” Azrael’s friend asks with an unbelieving chuckle. “I thought we were going to find you somewhere out on Great Bay after that,” he imparts, shaking his head.
“Well it felt as bad as it looked I guess,” he breathes, cringing when he applies too much weight to his right leg. “Quick thinking by the way. Those kids owe you their lives.”
“No,” Azrael insists, explaining, “we froze when it started. Wasn’t until you stepped in that we—“
“Don’t,” Cale interrupts, adjusting his friends arm on his shoulder. “Don’t play the modesty game.