MEMORIES OF AN OVERLORD
by Victar (vctr113062 [at] aol [dot] com)
Victar's Archive: https://www.vicfanfic.com
"Have you ever felt like time is running out fast, like the absolute worst is going to happen really soon? Have you ever wished you paid attention to that feeling, before it was too late?"
Chapter Two
Memories of an Overlord: Awakening the Bard
The bard seemed perfectly preserved within a large, colorless crystal.
He was dressed in loose-fitting traveler's clothes, designed for easy movement. His flowing, light green hair reached past his shoulders. A blooming red rose was pinned over his heart.
The bard's eyes were closed, and his face was tranquil. He had been holding his lute at the moment of his encasement within the crystal. One hand was on the lute's neck, and the other was poised over its strings.
You were playing music ten years ago, thought a wistful visitor. Was it to steady your heart? Were you as terrified as I was?
Did I hear your song? Maybe I did. Maybe it helped me.
The visitor glanced upon his own reflection, visible in the crystal's facets. The image of a teenaged young man looked back at him.
This doesn't take much concentration at all... but...
A slight grimace crossed the image's face.
"I still don't like seeing myself," the visitor said aloud, gingerly, as if testing the words. The sound of his unremarkable tenor voice seemed to erratically shift about.
"This takes more concentration, but at least it works, more or less," he muttered. "It should be good enough."
The visitor returned his gaze to the preserved bard.
The bard looked precisely as the visitor remembered him, except for a single change. There was now a jagged, jet-black streak running through the center of the bard's light green hair, from his bangs to the back of his neck and shoulders. The streak matched the color of the surface underneath the crystal surrounding him.
The visitor knew the true nature of that jet-black surface. Once, the substance had boiled, bubbled, and frothed, spilling a noxious stream of poisonous vapor; now, it appeared like solid obsidian.
A simple pedestal, holding a sparkling emerald gemstone, rested nearby. Dim light emanating from no obvious source provided a scarce amount of illumination.
All was housed within a stone shrine. Mortal hands had not built the shrine, the pedestal, or the crystal encasement. All had been transported through magic, ten years ago, then wrapped in powerful concealment spells, hidden from the perception of living beings and undead monsters alike.
The shrine should have been hidden from the visitor as well, but ten years ago, his desperate attempt at a spell had mixed haphazardly with the shrine's manifestation and the bard's flash-freeze. Lingering trails of that rushed, verge-of-panic evocation remained, like winding threads tracing a path through a labyrinth.
The visitor remembered how attempting to scrawl his own effect into the unfolding maelstrom of magic had felt - like scribbling upon a work of fine art. He remembered the chilling fear that he would fail.
I'm still terrified, he realized.
Black fog seeped about the room, drawing it deeper into shadow. The fog gradually gathered around the crystal, thickening and becoming almost solid.
I can only hope...
The visitor snapped his fingers.
The crystal shattered.
In response to the visitor's will, black smoke engulfed and pulled away every crystalline fragment. No cuts appeared on the bard's skin. Each shard settled harmlessly on the floor.
The bard swayed. His eyes opened; they were light green, and unfocused. His fingers played straggling notes of a battle hymn, as he sank first to his knees, then to his hip. He let go of his lute and braced himself against total collapse. His head bowed; he held his forehead with one hand while the other supported his upper body.
"Laminah," the bard murmured, groggily. He blearily looked in the visitor's general direction. "Laminah...?"
"That's not my name," the visitor quietly returned.
"No?" The bard blinked. He looked to the left, then to the right, then back to the visitor. "Ah, that is correct. It is not. Neither is it my own name, I think."
"Do you know what your name is?"
The bard hesitated, then looked to the left and the right again.
"...Anemos," he slowly sounded out. "My name is Anemos Monochrome. The rest is... hazy."
"Have you lost your memory?"
"I do not know?" The bard shuddered, squinted, and winced.
"Are you injured?"
"I do not believe so. Just very dizzy, and my hearing may be unreliable. You are standing before me, yet your voice seems to come from various directions."
"You should have curative beads in your vest."
"I have... what?" Anemos reached cross-body into his vest. He withdrew a tiny yellow bead.
"And, uh, there's nothing wrong with your hearing," the visitor added, uncomfortably. "I'm talking like this because... well, I wasn't sure what your state of mind would be when you woke up. I'm still not sure."
The bard crushed the yellow bead between his fingertips. A gleam of its soothing magic resonated briefly, then faded. "Ah. That was indeed a curative. How did you know I had it?"
"I didn't know for certain, but you keep a lot of magic beads in your vest. You've enchanted it to hold way more stuff than an ordinary piece of clothing could. I think you used more than minor magic, when you enchanted it. You probably also used bardic magic, since you know bardic magic that manipulates time. The enchantment on your vest only manipulates space, but time is the fourth dimension of space."
Confusion affected the bard. "Are you sensitive to the presence of magic?"
"Yeah. I can pick up on all sorts of magic that I couldn't before. I can use certain types of magic, too. I'm using minor magic right now. You do know that, right?"
Do I know that? the bard silently thought to himself. He tried to clear his mind and focus his awareness. Thick, heavy malignance from the drifting black fog unnerved him, and he consciously suppressed the instinct to shudder.
"Ah, yes," Anemos acknowledged. "I do sense the presence of minor magic, but I cannot determine how you are utilizing it. The fog is interfering with my perception."
"I'll try to tone that down," the visitor mumbled, his eyes darting back and forth. Then he showed a slight frown. "You should know what my magic is doing, no matter how muffled your senses are. Maybe you really have lost your memory."
"Is magic affecting your voice in that unusual manner?"
"You could say that. I think my mind processes the magic like a dubbed movie in surround sound," the visitor explained, in an unremarkable tenor voice that didn't quite match his location, or the movements of his mouth.
"Ah, like-?"
"Uh, never mind. The too-long-didn't-read version is, minor magic isn't very stable; this is as good as it gets." The visitor's frown deepened. "Looks like you don't remember enough to realize what else I'm having the magic do."
Anemos tentatively asked, "Does the fog hinder your command of magic, as well as your sensitivity to it?"
"The 'fog' doesn't do either of those things to me. Maybe to you, but not to me."
"No? You implied that you cannot discern precisely which magic items are in my possession."
"You have so many items that I can't tell what all of them are. Right now, I'd rather not use any power to get a clear view."
"To get a clear...?" Anemos peered at the shadowy figure.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Did you search me, while I was unconscious?"
The visitor turned his face away, covering his eyes and forehead with one hand. "Seriously? You lose your memory, and that's what you ask?"
Anemos smiled, warmly. "I did not say I had a problem with it."
The visitor lowered his hand and looked back to the bard. "The answer is 'no'. I wouldn't disrespect your personal space."
"'Personal space'?" Anemos repeated, curiously.
"Yeah. The one time I asked Cynthia to search you, it was strictly out of necessity. We had to confiscate any magic items that you might try to use against us. She returned your stuff later, of course."
"'Cynthia'... I know that name," the bard pondered. "And you say that you requested her to-?"
"Uh, well, you know I couldn't pick up on most types of magic back then. Maybe I could have asked Laminah to confiscate your stuff, but I figured that wasn't a good idea. Because reasons."
The bard raised both eyebrows. "You and I have met before, have we not? No, more than that - we have journeyed together."
"Yeah."
"You are..."
Anemos examined the visitor.
The visitor appeared to be a thin teenager, with brown eyes that matched his unkempt, raggedly-cut hair. He was dressed in casual clothing. A pair of folded, rectangular-lensed glasses hung from a white cord around his neck.
Anemos eyed the visitor's long-sleeved white shirt, multi-pocketed earthy brown slacks, and walking shoes. Something didn't seem quite right about them.
His shoes lack wear from traveling the roads, the bard thought to himself. His garments have no rips or tears, and no stains from sweat, dirt, or blood. Even the collar of his shirt is pristine.
His haircut is still atrocious, though.
"You are not from my world," Anemos continued, thoughtfully. "You are not native to Kreisia."
"No, I'm not."
"You look like an Altean, like one of my people, but you are not one. You cannot use Altean chants, and the color of your hair is different."
"Yeah."
"It is not dyed. It is naturally that dreadful brown, and it is a poorly-trimmed travesty. You do not even comb it, do you?"
"Quit talking about my hair."
"You have mentioned a few things about your home world before, and you have told me what your people call themselves."
"None of that is important right now."
"I should know your name."
"My name... yeah, about that. I should just tell you, but... I, uh, really didn't expect you to lose your memory. Maybe I should have seen it coming; I also have trouble remembering certain things."
"I do not believe my memories are truly lost. Do not say your name, not yet. It will come to me."
"Uh-huh. Whatever. How do you feel?"
"Disoriented. A little ill. I have some residual vertigo, and this fog feels disturbingly oppressive."
"Yeah, tell me about it. Do you need some fresh air? The exit is nearby."
"There is no cause for concern. I will not pass out."
"We shouldn't stay here for long, anyway."
"I am not ready to stand yet, but my memories are starting to return." Anemos half-closed his eyes. "Most of them are not pleasant."
"That fits with what I know about you."
"My memories of you are quite lovely, though."
"Don't get weird on me."
"As are my memories of Laminah." Anemos opened his eyes, and his warm smile returned. "The beautiful, ferocious warrior, loyal to her king. And - Cynthia, was it? The delightful Priestess of Salvation?"
"Yeah." The visitor's tone of voice became distant. "I've wondered why her spell to summon a Savior chose me. I've listened to your theory, many times, but I can't bring myself to believe it."
"My theory?"
"Never mind. It doesn't matter," the visitor dismissed. "I can give you a little time to get your bearings, but we have to set out soon. We need to wake up Laminah and Cynthia."
"Does that mean you came to see me first? Out of the three of us?" Anemos' smile became broader.
"Don't read anything into it."
"I truly ought to know your name. Bide a moment; I am certain I will recall it."
"Uh-huh. While you think about that, could you..." The visitor trailed off, uncertainly.
"Yes?"
"...could you... check your own pulse?"
"Why?"
"To find out if you have one."
"Why would I not?"
"Anemos, just check your own pulse already."
"Your request is quite odd, and your rationale even more so."
"Or you could prick your fingertip. See if you can still bleed."
"I beg your pardon? Are you suggesting that I injure my own finger?" the bard admonished, drawing himself up straighter. "My hands are my livelihood."
"Huh? Oh, right. You're a musician."
"I will forgive your thoughtlessness."
"Uh-huh." The visitor raised one eyebrow the slightest amount. "You're not doing what I tell you to do."
"Is that a problem?"
"No."
"I am quite pleased that it is not a problem."
The visitor's gaze drifted to the ground. "Maybe I should ask this directly."
"Maybe you should."
"Are you a living, breathing Altean, or are you an undead, miasma-filled monster?"
The bard cupped his chin in his hand. "Are those my only two choices?"
The visitor looked back up, with a perplexed expression. "What other choice is there?"
"I could be..."
The bard gracefully assumed a standing position. One hand removed the rose from his chest and held it close; the other gestured smoothly, with an exaggerated flourish. Effulgent rainbow lights drifted from his fingertips, in an illustrious magical display. "I could be Anemos the Dashing, Dazzling, Debonair Thief of a Thousand Hearts!"
"No," the visitor immediately denied, shaking his head. "No, no, and absolutely not."
"Are you quite certain?" Anemos raised the rose as if proffering it to an imaginary audience. The rainbow lights blinked and flashed brilliantly.
"Rrgh," growled the visitor, shielding his eyes with one hand.
"Work with me, on this? Just a little?" Anemos showed his most inviting smile yet.
"Okay, whatever. You're 'dazzling', if only because of the magic light show. Which you can stop doing now."
"Truly?"
"Really. Truly. Now."
Anemos placed the rose between his teeth and adjusted his pose one more time, bending a little to the side with both arms outstretched in a slope. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a born showman as he declared, "Anemos the Dazzling, at your service!"
"That's not a binding oath," the visitor replied, in a guarded tone. "A pledge to serve has to come from free will; it can't come from trickery, mind-control, or torture. You have to understand what you're signing on to. The words can't commit you if you don't understand, if you don't know what you're talking to, or if you're too mentally impaired to be responsible for what you say. I can feel it's at least the first one. Not sure if the second applies. I want to believe it's not the third, but you are not helping your case."
The bard's forehead wrinkled in apparent puzzlement, as he listened. Then his eyebrows suddenly arched, his back straightened, and he gasped "Ah-!" while spitting out the rose. He caught the blooming flower and raised it to eye level; its stem carried a single droplet of blood from his mouth. "How troublesome. I neglected to remove all of the thorns."
"You... really are alive." The visitor's voice shook, ever so slightly, and the beginning of a smile started to creep across his face. "It worked. I can hardly believe it worked. For ten years, I've been hoping it didn't fail."
"Ten years?" Anemos mused, cleaning off the rose and fastening it over his heart.
"Yeah. You probably weren't aware of the passage of time. Were you?"
"I am not completely certain I can sense it now."
"Well, time is running out, whether you can sense it or not." The visitor's shoulders buckled; a stronger undercurrent of emotion seeped into his composure, and his wavering smile. "I'm glad you're alive, Anemos."
The visitor shuddered, and gripped his tangled hair with one hand.
Does your head hurt? the bard wondered. I seem to recall a claim that the pain you had to feel would be your last.
Or perhaps, do you feel something other than pain?
"Anemos, do you hear the Voice of Orzand?" the visitor cautiously asked.
"Ah, to what do you refer?"
"If you don't know, then you're not hearing it." The visitor slowly lowered his hand.
"I hear no voices other than yours and mine."
"I'm pretty sure it's been trying to pressure you since the moment you woke up. It's complaining that you're defective."
"I presume you do not share that extraordinarily uncouth opinion."
"I don't think it can so much as read your mind. Just like I can't."
"Is that a power you have?" Anemos questioned, leaning slightly forward.
"I can't read the minds of the living. I wasn't sure if you'd be an exception or not. Turns out you're not."
"Ah, now that you speak of such things... I seem to recall that the Holy Brand Aldea is capable of reading minds. Like you?"
"No, not like me. Aldea can only read the minds of the living."
"So if you were to wield the Holy Brand, then no being in the world could harbor a secret from the two of you?" the bard sprightly asked, tracing an arc with one hand. Colorful lights displayed a simple map of Kreisia, then faded.
The visitor rolled his eyes. "Yeah. We'd have unlimited mind-reading power, in that completely sensible, practical, and realistic situation. And quit it with the lights already."
"The Holy Brand is not with you, is it?"
"No, it's not. It's sleeping in its shrine. Waiting for the next Savior. If one's been summoned, then he hasn't claimed it yet."
"How do you know that?"
"I just do. It's a little early for the next Savior to be summoned, anyway. When I say ten years have passed, I'm rounding up. It's been a few months less than ten years, but more than enough time for Aldea to fully recover its strength."
"Is that something else you know, without explanation of how you know it?"
"More or less, and history double-confirms the second part. Four cycles ago, there was only six years of peace before the Overlord unleashed another reign of terror. A summoned Savior cloaked in shadows had to help Kreisia hold out, while waiting for Aldea to recharge. The Savior was able to claim Aldea after it had slept for a total of nine and a half years."
"I... do know of that. It is a fairly recent legend of the cycle. Now, you are the one relating legends to me. I think that is a reversal?"
"Maybe it is." A smirk danced across the visitor's lips. "You really have no idea how frustrated the Voice is, do you?"
The visitor's smirk suddenly transformed into a scowl, and he cradled his brow in one hand.
Anemos purposefully kept his unease off of his face. "What else is this 'Voice' telling you?"
The visitor leaned against the shrine's wall and folded his arms. His expression changed from vexation to apprehensive concern.
"It says, %WHY ARE YOU PRETENDING TO BE A 'SAVIOR'?%" The visitor's own voice shifted in mid-sentence, from an unremarkable tenor to something else. Something malevolent, poisonous, oppressive. Something dredged from the depths of nightmares.
"I remember, now." Anemos, a trained performer who had spent years learning how to control his emotions, drew upon a lifetime of practice to hold himself steady. "I wanted to meet Kreisia's latest Savior, and the new Priestess of Salvation. I stationed myself at a traveler's stop where the two of you were likely to rest for the night."
The visitor looked down on himself. He raised one hand, curled his fingers, and examined his fingernails. Then he resumed his arm fold and carefully inspected the bard.
%So. More of your memories are returning.% A strong sense of reservation blended with the harrowing darkness in the visitor's distorted voice.
"Yes. Regrets are a terrible burden to carry," the bard somberly reflected. "I cannot forget the misdeeds that incurred such a burden, regardless of whether my wrongdoing is fully repaid."
%I need you to remember as much as you can, Anemos. It's extremely important.% The bard could not discern whether the strenuous request was truly sound, or a venomous etching engraved upon his conscious awareness.
"I will endeavor my best, but it is all quite the chaotic jumble."
%Maybe I can help you sort that out more quickly.%
"Ah, you are most gracious. Wherever shall I start?"
%Start by telling me... if you ever did anything to affect Cynthia's mind.%
"I used a chant to make her slumber, on the night I met both of you. Nothing else. Chants that inflict paralysis or dampen magic affect the body, not the mind; I used those only once on her."
%You also paralyzed Laminah and me.%
"All of those chants would have worn off rapidly, if the Holy Brand had not disrupted and dispelled them. Incapacitating the three of you pushed my talent for chants to its limit."
%Did you really think Aldea would let you get away with what you were doing?%
"The Holy Brand was fully aware of my intentions. I had resolved to accept its judgment, whatever that might be. The Holy Brand essentially delegated that judgment to you, and I remember being astonished that you were not angry over my betrayal."
%I was more upset with myself. I should have told Laminah and Cynthia the whole truth about you sooner, and I didn't. At first I believed everything was a dream, but that excuse didn't last long.%
"And when you awakened from your 'dream'?"
%You were clearly every bit as dedicated as the rest of us to stopping the Overlord's reign of terror.%
"Ah, yes. That was true, in a narrowly defined sense."
%I assumed that you'd messed with me because, even though you'd pretended to be reluctant, you desperately wanted to join us and shut the Overlord down.%
"Also true, from an unfortunately shortsighted perspective."
%The risk that you might also mess with Laminah and Cynthia didn't occur to me. Maybe I really did trust you too much.%
"It is quite possible. Awareness of subliminal influences does not necessarily render one impervious to their effects."
%I knew all along that something was wrecking you on the inside, but at first I figured it was the same pain that everyone in Kreisia suffers. From massacres committed by the Overlord, every ten years.%
"That was part of the pain; just not all. When did you start having suspicions?"
%After the ambush. Laminah was right. You knew more than you were telling about it.%
"Ah, that was true as well! Yet you still requested my treatment?"
%There were a lot of witnesses present, including Aldea. It's nearly invisible in light form, but I knew it would protect me if it had to. Just like it protected me from miasma poisoning.%
"More is coming back to me. The Holy Brand did take action, during the skirmish! I remember being uncertain of whether or how it might intervene."
%I think it could have crushed the ambush, if it wanted to. Just like it could have crushed us when we woke it up.%
"Why do you suppose it limited its intervention? Was it conserving its power?"
%It was, but I'm convinced it was also playing the long game. All it cares about is its function to protect Kreisia. It's been the keystone of Kreisia's all-devouring cycle for a very long time.% A thread of bitterness started to work its way through the visitor.
The bard did not appear to notice the visitor's worsening mood. "I remember everything about the skirmish, now. I prepared for it by palming one of my strongest anti-poison beads. Even though I saw the Holy Brand act, I used the bead on you as a precaution against any residual miasma contaminating your wound."
%I didn't know that.%
"You were immobilized, and I was behind you. You lost consciousness soon after. When you awakened, you requested my treatment, and then... what did you do after that?"
%I asked Aldea to help me. Then I asked a lot of different people to help me.%
"I thought you did not have a particularly warmhearted partnership with the Holy Brand."
%It was still willing to help me with pretty much anything connected to protecting Kreisia. When it wasn't busy with its own game plan, anyway.%
"Ah. That does corroborate with what I can recollect."
%And even though it didn't like me very much, it totally hated your guts.%
"That, as well. How did it aid you?"
%Lots of ways. More than I'm going to list. The first thing I asked it to do was confirm that there were no chants or mind-related or magic affecting Cynthia, or Laminah.%
"Did you truly believe that I could affect Laminah's mind at all, whether she wore her heirloom chant ward or not?" the bard inquired, amiably.
%Lives were at stake. I couldn't take the chance.%
"Perhaps you also believed I could pluck the stars out of the sky?" The bard reached as if to grasp an imaginary harvest from midair.
%I didn't say it was much of a chance.%
"Or dance upon the moon?" The bard raised both arms and fluidly pirouetted in place.
%It's not like asking Aldea cost anything.%
"Did you inform the Holy Brand of what I had done to you?"
%Aldea knew all along. When I first tried to claim Aldea, it was angry with me for being unworthy, but it flat-out hated you for interfering with the duties of the 'Savior'. Its threat to execute you was real.%
"I wonder why it kept what I did a secret?"
%Aldea kept a lot of secrets.% The visitor's bitterness intensified, and the darkness in his voice sharpened to a vicious edge.
"Not to mention everything else it knew about me," the bard added, seemingly oblivious to the visitor's aggravation. "I can recall contemplating whether it might glean information from my mind."
%It did, at my request. I asked it to find out when and where any other ambushes were planned.%
"And, I can recall deciding that I did not care."
%It didn't exactly say why it never warned me about the first ambush. Just something like, 'Your choice of companions has resulted in consequences.'%
"Did the Holy Brand say anything else about me?"
%It said that at first it thought you had manipulated Cynthia, but it quickly determined that her mental state was her own doing.%
"Ah, I remember now. Immediately after the Holy Brand joined our journey, I resolved not to let any harm befall Cynthia, let alone personally mistreat her."
The visitor's bitterness receded, and the edge to his dark voice softened.
%I saw that you protected her during the ambush.%
"Yes. Even though I had requested that she not be targeted, I was poised to defend her before the opening attack. Safeguarding her was paramount because I suspected you would willingly accept a fate worse than that of any other Savior, in order to change her fate."
%You're downplaying your own conscience.%
"I suppose there was also that, yes." The bard's gaze drifted away from the visitor. "I remember being... grateful... for Cynthia's forgiveness. And Laminah's, and especially yours. I clearly recall wondering whether I deserved any of it. Perhaps I still wonder."
The visitor's eyes darted to one side, then to the other side, then back to the bard.
%Anemos, I've stopped disguising my voice.%
"Ah, so this is the true, and not another minor magic guise?" the bard queried, looking back. "Duly noted."
%You look calm.%
"It is fair to say that I am calm."
%Do you know what I am?%
The bard half-closed his eyes and steepled his fingers.
"Ah, yes!" he cheerfully realized, opening his eyes and clapping his hands once. "You have told me that your people call themselves 'human'."
%That word doesn't describe me anymore,% the visitor warily clarified. %Do you remember why?%
"Perhaps...?"
%Your most recent memories should have the answer. It was ten years ago, but it should feel like yesterday to you.%
"My most recent memories are... not especially pleasant, I think."
Anemos half-closed his eyes again.
I remember your final scream. I remember Cynthia's shocked tears.
I remember Laminah's unyielding courage. I remember playing my battle hymn as I attempted to emulate her bravery, and yours.
I remember wondering how long I would have to wait before accepting my own doom.
I remember the profound, all-encompassing sensation that the time to condemn myself had come. I remember surrendering my heart, will, and soul to that feeling, as I entered the window of my judgment.
"Yes. Decidedly unpleasant," the bard affirmed, with a single nod. "Although, I do not remember experiencing any physical pain."
The visitor unfolded his arms and stopped leaning against the wall. He studied Anemos with a balance of assessment and disquietude.
%What do you remember?%
I remember your nearly-panicked plea, emblazoned in my mind: 'I need your complete faith in me. Just believe in me.'
Of course I believed in you. How could I not, when you repaid my lies with sympathy, my betrayals with protection, and my crimes with a path to atone? When you fought to liberate my people from a decades-long reign of terror?
And I remember...
Anemos' eyes snapped open. "Your name is Yusis."
%It's Overlord Yusis Orzand, now.%
In the blink of an eye, the visitor's appearance changed. He still loosely resembled a scrawny teenager with messy hair - now jet-black instead of brown - but his skin had turned horrifically pale, as if drained of all blood. Short, triangular black claws had replaced his fingernails. His teeth had become serrated, with prominent fangs. His eyes no longer had brown irises or white cornea; they glowed yellow and had vertically slitted pupils, like a cat's.
Black fog drifted off of his form - no, not fog, Anemos realized. Miasma vapors. The malignant essence of necromancy that poisoned and consumed life, that transformed people, animals, and fresh corpses into undead monsters. Into dark magic shells empty of flesh or blood, housing only miasma and trapped souls; into near-mindless monsters driven to stalk and kill the living.
Instead of white and earthy brown, the visitor's "garments" had become drab, lifeless colors, dull grey and sludge-black. Now the "clothing" showed the wear and stains Anemos remembered, including rips, scuffs on the shoes, and faded evidence of blood on the shirt collar, but the bard knew that appearance was only a lingering impression, like a seal stamped into wax. The entire "outfit" was part of a dark magic shell, shaped into a form resembling the body that miasma had consumed.
The visitor's rectangular-lensed glasses were still there, suspended on a dark cord around his neck. Instead of resting on the center of his chest, the eyewear dangled over a large, rotating vortex of jet-black miasma. It was a hole of swirling darkness in the center of his torso, trailing smoky vapors from the front and back.
He was the Overlord Orzand, the legendary wielder of miasma and master of monsters. The latest incarnation of the undead menace that arose every ten years, with the mandate to mercilessly destroy all life.
"I think I will just call you Yusis," Anemos said, softly.
%Sure, that's fine.%
The monster named Yusis abruptly became rigidly straight, and raised both hands to his head. %That - that is fine. That really is fine. Why is that fine?%
"Yusis?"
%It must not be against the rules,% he rambled, lowering his hands and shaking his head. %Allowing it is not making obeisance to the speaker. Maybe granting a privilege, but not making obeisance. I should have known. Cedric allowed it without compromising his authority.%
"Calling you by your name? Is that such an extraordinary thing?"
Yusis arched one, jet-black eyebrow. %I thought you'd be a little more scared.%
"Ah, should I scream?"
%Or tremble. Or something.%
"I could pretend to faint, if you would like."
%I guess I really am the least terrifying Overlord ever.% The monster spared a single, rueful chuckle.
"I remember; you said that you wanted to keep your own mind as the Overlord. I daresay you have accomplished your desire."
%For now.%
In the space of another eyeblink, the Overlord's appearance returned to that of an ordinary teenager. "It's probably easier if I keep using illusions of what I used to look and sound like. Magic this minor doesn't cost any power, anyway. All it requires is a little concentration."
Anemos simply shrugged, and smiled affably.
"Take Aldea's pommel stone with you, before we go." Yusis gestured to the emerald gemstone on a pedestal. "The next Savior will need it. You'll have to deliver it to him - uh, you can carry it, right? Touching it shouldn't hurt you. I think. I'm almost sure. Maybe you should still be careful..."
Anemos picked up the glimmering gemstone, and studied its sparkling facets.
"Do you feel okay?" Yusis questioned, intently.
"I am well, but are you certain we should not leave this here?"
"Yeah, because I can find this place. If we leave it here, I could come back and destroy it."
Anemos stowed the gemstone within an inner pocket of his vest, then noticed that Yusis was holding his head again.
Yusis' eyes closed, and he gripped his disheveled hair with one hand. An undercurrent of desperation seeped through him as he nearly whispered, "Anemos, can you play some music?"
"It would be an honor." The bard strummed his lute, performing a nocturne he had personally composed. Light, mellifluous strains filled the shrine, echoing off its walls.
Yusis gradually relaxed, and let go of his head. He opened his eyes, and nostalgia affected his voice. "I remember this lullaby. You played it when we first met."
"Yes."
"It's as beautiful as ever. For ten years, I've only heard it in memories." Yusis turned, and started walking. "Keep playing. It's helping me tune out the Voice."
What is the Voice telling you now, Yusis?
No. Best not to ask again, or speculate. No good is likely to come from either.
Anemos followed Yusis to the shrine's exit. They emerged on a small, lonely islet, under the cover of darkness. From what Anemos could judge from the position of Kreisia's moon and stars, night had recently fallen.
Moonlight illuminated grass and vegetation covering the islet. Anemos spotted a moderate-sized patch of twisted, blackened stalks and blades, a short distance away. A trail of charred and dying plant life stretched from the patch to the shrine that had housed the bard for ten years.
Anemos moved his line of sight away from the trail, and on the periphery of his vision, watched the grass near Yusis' feet curl, shrivel, and wither.
Yusis gazed upward at Kreisia's luminous moon, listening to Anemos' haunting, melodic nocturne for long minutes.
"Sometimes I miss the days when I thought Kreisia was a dream," Yusis reflected. "You can take a break from playing now, if you like."
Anemos nodded, and ended his song.
"We're going to awaken Laminah next," Yusis stated. "You should prepare yourself as much as you can. What worked on you may not have worked on her. She could be an undead monster."
"Impossible. She is alive," Anemos returned, resolutely.
"I hope you're right. I... didn't distribute my spell's power evenly, ten years ago."
The bard raised a light green eyebrow.
Yusis' eyes darted down and to the side. "You and Cynthia once taught me that magic is a matter of the mind. Turns out that means mental balance affects power balance. I was on the brink of freaking out when I cast my spell, and less power went to Laminah than to you. I know she believed in me enough to support my magic with her own strength, just like you did. If she is a monster, then it's not because she didn't have faith. It's because I failed."
I remember something else about you, now. I remember your habitual tendency to doubt yourself.
Has ten years not changed that? Even in the slightest?
Yusis looked back up, then furrowed his brow in thought. "I'm not sure how we should travel."
"I do have a teleportation bead," Anemos remarked. "Is a settlement near our destination?"
"Do not use your bead," Yusis quickly stressed. "Especially not if it's your last one. Is it?"
"It is, but why-?"
"I've forbidden all monsters from approaching any settlements, animals, or people, other than my servants or the next Savior. That's the %Overlord's decree.%"
"You can do that?"
"Yeah. Turns out I really am the %Master of monsters.%"
Yusis' eyes darted to one side, then back to the bard. "Huh. Looks like naming major magic abilities overrides the minor magic illusion of my voice, same as repeating words from the Voice of Orzand does. Anyway, the %Overlord's decree% affects all monsters. That includes me, and I'm not going to spend power modifying the decree right now."
"You were not prevented from approaching me."
"You're one of my servants."
"Ah, duly noted." When I said I was 'at your service', I did not expect you to take it quite so literally. I thought you acknowledged as much?
Or, are you referring to...
...that memory... the vow I made has ceased to be valid, has it not? I pledged my service to the Savior, and you are no longer the Savior.
Yusis warned, "This means that monsters can attack you, unless I'm around to hold them back. And I'm not promising to always hold them back."
That is a troubling refusal to promise. "Perhaps we should return to the current problem. How did you travel here to begin with?"
"I took the form of a dragon and flew here."
"That sounds exciting!" Anemos clapped his hands together, and his face lit up with delight.
"Yeah, turns out flying isn't as much fun as I thought it would be. It's not that different from riding on an airship, and it drains my power. Reaching this island cost more than I expected."
"Do you need to rest? I could keep watch for monsters."
Yusis frowned, disapprovingly.
"Ah, I could keep watch for monster hunters?" the bard amended.
Yusis shook his head. "Monsters don't 'rest'. My power does recharge over time, but %Shapechange into Dragon% costs a lot, and flying in that form takes more. I'm not going to %Shapechange% again for a while."
"Your dragon form must be magnificent. Show me?"
"I just told you no."
"I could ride on your back."
"No."
"It would be an adventure!"
"Not happening."
"I could use bardic magic to enhance your celerity?"
Yusis made an exasperated grimace. "The Voice could say something like %DO A BARREL ROLL!% while we're over the ocean."
"You are not compelled to do what it says, are you?"
"It's complicated."
That ambiguous response is even more troubling.
The tightness in Yusis' face eased a little. "Huh. Looks like you've given me an idea."
Yusis made a sweeping gesture upward with one arm. A gout of jet-black miasma-smoke manifested. It coalesced, condensing and transforming into an obsidian creation that shimmered like dark glass. The sculpture had seats and long, flat, stiff protrusions from either side that vaguely resembled outstretched wings.
Anemos stared, wide-eyed, at the conjured object.
"Turns out I really am the %Wielder of miasma,%" Yusis said, with a small shrug.
"What... is that meant to be? It appears to have places for a person to sit."
"It's based on something called a 'coach' on my world. I've given it wings instead of wheels."
"Can you shape dark magic into anything?"
"Only objects, and there are limits to what I can do."
"Could you create an airship?"
"Not a working one. I don't know anything about machines. Airships also use wind magic to fly; I can't cast elemental spells. I can direct miasma vapors to provide some lift, midair stability, and a windshield, but we'll need help to get where we're going."
Yusis snapped his fingers. A winged dragon-monster, perhaps twice the size of a cow, suddenly appeared. A stiff, obsidian harness connected its chest to the coach. Its blue scales reflected the moonlight, and its glowing yellow eyes with vertical-slit pupils affixed Anemos with an intense stare. The dragon curled its neck toward the bard, and made a spine-chilling hiss.
"Don't bother," Yusis casually reproached. "If I don't scare him, you're sure not going to."
The dragon drew back its head.
"Did you teleport that monster here?" Anemos asked, dumbfounded.
"What part of %Master of monsters% don't you understand?"
"Ah, I recall that the Overlord can summon monsters to any location unprotected by wards, yet to teleport a dragon across the ocean-!"
"There are limits to what I can do with monsters. I can't summon any more monsters for a while."
"Can you not teleport us?"
"Summoning only works on undead servants. You're not undead and I'm not a servant."
Yusis climbed upon the carriage he had created, and settled in the coachman's seat.
"Get in," the Overlord instructed. "I'll drive."
Anemos hesitated. "Ah..."
"You wanted a dragon ride. Do you still have float gossamers pinned to your clothing? You're not completely out of them, are you?"
"Not completely, but..."
"If you fall out, use one on yourself. You're strictly responsible for your own safety. I can't do anything to help you, not directly, so stay focused."
"...the matter is..."
"You can swim, right? The ability is marked on your - uh, never mind."
"Ah, I am familiar with the fundamentals of swimming. It seemed prudent to learn, when the most accessible means of travel to or from Ascendance Island was by ship."
"Good to know. I'd rather you didn't fall into the water at all, though, so don't distract yourself with any bardic magic. I have my own way of speeding us up."
"You are most generous, and yet..." the bard trailed off.
"What is it? Spit it out, we don't have much time," Yusis brusquely demanded.
Anemos uneasily cleared his throat. "Ah, I am not certain that it is wise for me to sit within an object shaped out of miasma."
"Solid miasma can't poison anyone, same as how fire magic or water magic shaped into a solid object can't burn or soak anyone."
"That is... an educational insight?"
"Even the dark magic shell of a monster can't poison the living through physical contact alone. If a monster doesn't give off miasma vapors or conjure liquid miasma, then its only way to spread undeath is through bites or claw attacks. Monster teeth and claws inject miasma vapors into the victim's bloodstream."
"That is... a disturbing disclosure?"
"Maybe you're thinking of how the stuff Cynthia shaped from magic always vanished. I can do things she can't. I can make dark magic objects that stay solid permanently, like this one."
"That is... a reassuring assertion?"
"I can turn solid miasma back to smoke if I'm nearby, but dismissing this thing in midair would be pretty pointless, wouldn't it?"
"That is... a rhetorical question, I trust?"
"Even if this thing were to become smoke, it still wouldn't be a high enough concentration to poison you. Ten years ago, you became the Lesser Seal of that miasma font we just left. You have some natural resistance as a keepsake."
"That is... a most unusual souvenir?"
"It's same effect as a super-strong anti-poison ward, on the level of what Aldea can cast, but it's not a spell. It's a permanent change to your body."
"That is... what? A permanent change to-?"
"It's why you're not poisoned from being around me."
That concern did not cross my mind. Until now.
This will not do at all. I need to be clearheaded when I see Laminah again.
Anemos took a deep breath as he entered the passenger section of the coach. The dragon screeched and flapped its wings. Anemos closed his eyes for the takeoff, and didn't open them again until the coach was well above the ground.
"By the way..." Yusis turned his head to look back over his right shoulder. He leisurely rested his elbow on the divider between the coach's driver and passenger seats, as he inspected the bard with a coldly analytical gaze.
"Yes?"
%Did you only pretend to lose your memory, 'Anemos the Dazzling'?% The Overlord's visual illusion of a living appearance did not change, but Anemos inwardly tensed upon hearing the baleful voice that, by its innate resonance, called to long-buried emotional states of misery, rancor, and seething acrimony.
%I think you lied to me because you needed time to evaluate a dangerous situation. Am I right?%
"Ah..."
%Maybe I can help you sort that out more quickly. I'll start with this. Turns out I really do have the mandate to destroy all life.%
"Yusis...?"
%That does include you. Just not right now. You are one of my three Primary Servants; that is currently reason enough to postpone your execution.%
Anemos put forth an expression of utter bafflement.
%You've been behaving like a mind-addled buffoon. That's an act, isn't it? Are you trying to make the Overlord Orzand underestimate you?%
Anemos spoke slowly, choosing his words with care worthy of a trial for high treason. "Yusis, do the answers to any of these questions truly matter to you?"
%No, they don't.%
Anemos silently held his breath.
Yusis' eyes suddenly widened. "No! They don't-!"
Then, "No. No, they really don't." Yusis' hand touched his brow. "I..."
Yusis lowered his hand and shook his head. "The Voice keeps saying, %HE LIES TO YOU. HE PLAYS YOU FOR A FOOL.% But the Voice also tells lies, and..."
Yusis turned away and looked into the starry, nighttime sky. "I don't care if you lie to me, Anemos. You've lied to me before, and you may have to again. It doesn't matter. I don't care if you tell me a thousand lies. I'm just... glad you're alive."
"Shall I play more music?" the bard gently offered.
"Yeah. Do that."
Anemos plucked the strings of his lute.
%And keep those float gossamers handy.%
End of Chapter Two: Awakening the Bard