The City of Mages
The City of Mages
The island on which the City of Mages rested was, at its heart, a volcanic island.
Born from an underwater volcano, it had swelled to a size uncommon for an island, and the mages who first built their city there used magic to expand it even further.
Through that magical shaping, the volcanic island out on the Night Sea became an extinct peak, and the city grew around the dead volcano at its center.
The dye workshop sat partway up the slope.
A specialized establishment that melted blue iron—metals that conducted mana, imported from the Southern Continent—and infused the resulting dyes into clothing and ornaments, imbuing them with magic.
Given that specialty, not a single person there, from the proprietor to the lowliest worker, lacked magic.
Though in a city where the non-magical were the true rarity, that was hardly exceptional.
Aslan arrived at the workshop and, looking past Ereta—who was visibly embarrassed but still refused to release his hand—took in the view beyond her.
Apart from the workspace where they melted blue iron, colored it, and engraved spells, the rest of the building was effectively a showroom displaying finished pieces.
And hung prominently in the middle of that showroom were the Wings of Stymphalos—Aslan's own equipment, torn from the Predator and reliable even in combat against high priests like the Dragon-king and Ash.
The feather cloak had been thoroughly coated in a dye as deep as ink, dried, and transformed into a black feather cloak.
A long mantle whose lush black plumage cascaded down to the waist.
Across its full length, the dye saturated into the feathers had been seamlessly engraved with Manifestation School magic keyed to distortion and Transmutation School magic granting it the ability to auto-repair.
The clerk who had been standing dazed before it snapped alert at the approaching footsteps, and, recognizing Ereta the moment he saw her, immediately lifted the cloak down and presented it with care.
Something regretful flickered across his expression, and Aslan could guess why. He made a deliberate effort to ignore that reluctance as Ereta accepted the cloak and held it out to him.
"Well? It looks good, doesn't it?"
She wasn't wrong. The black feather cloak was far from unimpressive.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind—could a mantle taken from a monstrous bird named after brass-winged Greek horrors still properly be called Stymphalos?—but the enchantments and the appearance were both so satisfying that the thought felt meaningless.
The distortion magic belonged to the Manifestation School. A type of protection that shielded the wearer from incoming physical strikes. Aslan was already skilled enough to snatch an arrow out of the air and fire it back, but with this, he would have even more options.
And the auto-repair? It consumed the mana imbued in the magic dye, but considering Aslan's doubled durability depletion, it was an excellent choice.
It wasn't just acceptable. It was genuinely good. After draping the cloak around his shoulders, he was even more satisfied to note that its ink-dark hue matched his armor.
"Thank you. How much did it cost? Let me cover half."
The enchantments engraved into it wouldn't have come cheap. Aslan doubted Ereta had that kind of money, and as he untied the coin purse at his belt, he started counting the gold coins inside.
"It's... a secret."
Ereta watched him with a smile heavy with private satisfaction, then shook her head.
The gesture made Aslan's eyes widen. She laughed and added,
"It's just a gift. Please accept it. No arguments."
The expression that passed over her face was less a seductive smile than a fleeting current of tangled emotions. Aslan fell silent at the weight of it, and the woman gently took his hand and drew him along.
"Anyway, my secret funds are all offerings my followers gave me when I was a high priest. It doesn't really matter how the money gets used. Besides, I've already paid in full."
Aslan let her lead him out of the workshop, and no one tried to stop them, which seemed to confirm that the bill had indeed been settled.
Outside, the sea breeze stirred her hair. Only then did she release his hand.
"If you really feel grateful... would you go somewhere with me?"
Aslan had no reason to refuse. He nodded, and she walked ahead of him, her gaze resting unhurriedly on the setting sun.
Each step of her shoes tapped softly against the stone. Aslan followed that rhythm, watching the sunset and sensing the attention of the Evil Gods lurking just beyond the fading light.
Even under those stares, the city was beautiful.
The sea stretching beneath the crimson sky blazed at its furthest edge in a hue somewhere between scarlet and molten gold. Beyond the burning water, even the shadows seemed to waver. What crept in behind the dying sun was darkness.
A violet darkness. Aslan had been watching it when Ereta's footsteps stopped, and he turned to look at her.
She had settled beneath a tree that the sunset had stained just as red.
The cityscape sprawled beyond the railing looked as solid as if it had never suffered recent collapse.
From here, he could even make out the plaza where they had fought Ash. Aslan stepped up to the railing and gazed down at it.
Despite a battle that should have ended in defeat—that had become victory only by chance—he had kept his companions alive. He had lost his left eye, but that was better than losing one of them. As he peered down through the clouded lens, Ereta came to stand beside him.
"Today was nice."
Had it been?
They hadn't done anything particularly special. When he thought about how anxiously she had tried to be helpful, how she had given everything she had even during the battle with Ash, he almost felt guilty.
"Yeah...?"
The doubt in his voice must have been obvious, because she read it clearly and smiled, clear and open.
"Mm. What about you, Aslan?"
She leaned forward, resting her arms on the railing as she asked. He turned his head toward the view to avoid tracing the way her silhouette tilted, and she laughed softly at the motion. That low laugh coaxed a small smile out of him in return.
"I think I had a good time."
Truthfully, it couldn't have been otherwise.
Aslan was someone who liked people, and because he liked people, he could find joy even in small things.
Admitting it just made him a little self-conscious.
Ereta, as if waiting for a more definite answer, rested her cheek on her arms and grumbled.
"It makes me happier when you say it clearly. Stupid Aslan."
Was she imitating Fay? A laugh slipped out of him, and at that, Ereta's expression softened into a gentle smile before she turned back toward the sunset.
Standing side by side, they watched the dying light sink slowly into the sea.
The long, deepening shadows were red, and seeing that red, Ereta could think of only one thing.
"The truth is, I'm still worried about Mother."
Aslan didn't answer, but her eyes, clouded by something like guilt or longing, remained fixed on the city.
In the past, it was a city that would have stirred nothing in her at all.
"What might have happened to her... whether she's even alive...."
As the words slipped out, Aslan's grip tightened on the railing. Ereta saw his hand and smiled sadly.
"If she is alive... why she abandoned me. What she thinks of me... I'm curious, and I'm terrified."
She wanted to know why she had been abandoned. After all that love and devotion, had she done something so terribly wrong that her mother had suddenly grown sick of her?
And it terrified her.
The possibility that she had been a bad child—bad enough that all that love and devotion had turned to revulsion.
The fact that if she hadn't been abandoned, she would never have met Aslan.
The fact that she could stand here looking at this fragile city, destined someday to burn at the universe's end, and feel anything at all.
Unbearably terrified, and unbearably curious.
"If she wasn't devoured by one of the other Three Evils... if I ever see her again... I want to ask her. Why she threw me away."
At those words, Aslan's grip on the railing tightened without his realizing it, and she looked at his hand with that same sad smile.
She glanced up at his face. Seeing it, Ereta felt sorrow and gladness at once.
"You want to kill my mother, don't you?"
Silence. But it was the silence of affirmation. Ereta drew back from the railing and laughed in embarrassment.
As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the sea wind tousled both their hair.
The silence stretched, and Aslan steeled himself for several possible outcomes.
Despite that, she said it anyway.
"Killing her is fine."
It was nothing like the answer Aslan had braced himself for.
"Honestly, even if you decided to kill me, I think it couldn't be helped."
Aslan turned his head, his eyes swirling with tangled emotions. She clasped her hands together demurely and let them fall.
"I don't want you to hate me. I don't want you to abandon me. I wish you could forgive my mother, and not kill her."
What followed was a sad smile.
"But I know that's not possible."
Aslan couldn't find words. Ereta closed her eyes.
"If I become a bad child, you'll hate me. You'll leave me. And Mother is an Evil God you have to kill. She has to die."
When she opened her eyes again, she tilted her head and looked at him.
"I've killed so many people who didn't want to die. So I think if it happens to me, it can't be helped."
"Ereta."
"I still don't understand you, Aslan. But I did understand one thing. That I... could be on the receiving side. That this happiness could be taken from me at any time."
She looked up at him with that sad smile. The sunset stained her pink eyes red, and as Aslan watched those glistening eyes, he opened and closed his mouth several times.
Before he could force out the words he was struggling to find, Ereta spoke again, the sunset catching her profile.
"Aslan, you said you needed time. You asked me to wait."
The words from when he had woken up at Belus Alpen. Aslan remembered them and nodded. She smiled.
"But I don't think I can wait anymore. Right now... there's something I want to do."
Something she wanted to do.
He couldn't allow it.
If he accepted it, things would only get harder from here on.
If Ereta was ever in danger, he wouldn't be able to make rational decisions. If he lost her, he would never manage to stand back up.
So the moment he understood her intent, he blocked her.
She stepped closer, rose onto her toes, and as her face drew near, he raised his palm to stop her.
Ereta's kiss landed on his palm. Aslan gave a bitter smile and started to say something.
But before he could, her eyes narrowed.
There was no regret or sorrow in that narrow gaze.
What he saw instead in her slanted eyes was something like raw desire, and his own eyes widened.
The instant that sultry heat flickered through her innocent features, Ereta wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close.
And then she pressed her lips hard against the back of his palm, as if she meant to kiss the mouth behind it.
As if she could press straight through. A passionate, lingering kiss.
Her lips moved against his palm, and the heat of her quickened breath escaped between his fingers.
Ereta's lashes quivered softly over closed, glistening eyes. Aslan froze, stunned.
Only then did she pull away. She loosened her arms from around his neck, touched her own lips, and gave a small, fleeting smile.
"That's enough for now. I can wait now."
Aslan had been bracing himself for a somewhat different turn of events. He stood there, eyes wide and blank, until the sight of him made Ereta's laughter spill out.
A soft, stifled chuckle escaped her, and without thinking, he lowered his hand.
"Your face turning red like that... you really are cute."
As Ereta smiled in contentment, Aslan covered his face.