2412 Iclis 18, Briss

Cyrdel hooked a finger against the collar of his frilly costume, blowing out the strands of fake hair that kept getting stuck to his mouth. He could never understand how Ravalee corralled hers even after being with her all these years. Airene's voice speared into his mind, coming from miles away. Remember—just like we practiced.

His lips curved down in a frown. Yeah, easy for her to say. Unlike him, she's sitting pretty in their getaway carriage, whistling her merry days away. But him? He had to squeeze into this dress and pretend to be someone he's not.

Yeah. Dress. A few days ago, after holing up with Airene near the border of Zalgend and Toreza, she came up with the plan without his permission. She had propped her hands on her hips in pride and she turned to him. "The only way we'll get into Toreza is by getting a young thyminka and introducing her to the head priestess for training. That way, she can scour the place without too many eyes on her back, and she can bust Ravalee out in time."

Cyrdel remembered being confused at the way Airene's gaze honed into him until it registered. "Oh, no," he waved his palms in the air and scrambled away as if it would do anything to prevent his fate. "I'm not doing that."

A dangerous glint flashed in the older brownie's eyes. "Oh, but you will," she said. "I'll get your measurements and procure the necessary disguises. In the meantime, learn how to change your voice."

"Why a girl?" he demanded. Up until now, he couldn't believe how ridiculous this idea was.

Airene rolled her shoulders and brushed loose strands off her face. "Most of the thyminka population are women," she said. "If we want to avoid scrutiny as much as possible, a girl is our best bet."

Cyrdel had crossed his arms over his chest then. "But why me?" he asked. "Can't we find some random girl and convince her to help us?"

"Last I checked, you and I are public enemies in Umazure and in the Sovereign's eyes," she reminded him rather unabashedly. It did slip his mind for a second. "We can't saunter around like we used to, kissing flower-children or opening Temples up for ceremony."

Of course. Nobody would want to be near a criminal, much less associate with one. Make those two. His mind tried coming up with more excuses but it came sputtering. Airene beamed at him then, knowing she'd already won.

The next few days were spent with Airene hand-making the dress she'd make Cyrdel wear. Meanwhile, he had disassembled one of the trinkets in his belt and fashioned another device out of it. The lesium band around his wrist had long ago been smashed into pieces and ground into fine powder. He'd rather not see that purple ore and anything made from it ever again.

Then, the morning of the "day" came. Cyrdel whined all the while Airene worked on his clothes and later, his hair. When and where she got this disgusting fake hair was beyond him. He swore he could smell noure fur though. Going out of their makeshift hut was enough torture. Imagine walking into Toreza's wide courtyard and into the Head Priestess' office, with all those acolytes and priestesses looking at him. He'd rather go back to the stable and wither away assembling rifles.

The Head Priestess, possibly because she had seen a lot of things in her entire career, gave Cyrdel one look from head to toe before sending him away with a curt jerk of her chin. "Find the Quartermaster," she said. "She'd fix you up with everything you need."

No explanations on who the quartermaster was, not even a bit on how to find her. Cyrdel preferred it that way though. Gave him more leeway in scouring the place for Ravalee. If he ever got cornered, he could say he's looking for the Quartermaster.

That's how he ended up walking along the blinding pavement leading to the smaller bunch of marble houses to the huge temple's left. He hooked a finger against his collar, cursing at the tight lace Airene made over his shoulder blades. The skirt kept flitting between his legs, causing him to stumble forward or walk in dubious strides.

The band around his neck, with the receiver pressed hard against his throat, didn't help either. It had taken a while to calibrate the output to match the timbre of a young girl's voice but he did it anyway. Now...how to find Ravalee?

He closed his eyes and sighed. Slowly, he lowered his vision to the trail dimension. He had never tried trail diving and tracking before, so the mess of colorful threads flitting in and out of his periphery came as a shock. Some almost blinded him while some flashed orange and flickered off completely.

Which one was Ravalee's, then?

Airene had told him her niece's trail was somewhere in the middle of khaki and amber. As a brownie, the shade popped to the back of his head. He didn't even know if the color had a name at this point. He kept his vision in the other version of their reality and walked forward. With every form whizzing past him, the colors shifted and whirled. His temples started throbbing from the strain it put in his eyes. His gut started turning with nausea from staring at the frantic shows of light while moving as well.

A flash of greenish-gold caught his attention. It curved and bled from all over, almost like a signal. A message. Ravalee was here, somewhere. Before he knew it, he was dashing forward, his soot-and-blood-stained boots padding against Toreza's manicured roads without shame. His fake hair, the same shade of sand brown, flew away from his face but hot his scalp. Oh, so that's a way to get the itchy strands out of the way.

He rounded a corner, diving under the growing shadow of the marble hut. These little houses were shared by two or three acolytes and a priestess and thyminkais lived there all their lives, If not for the treaty and protocol Cyrdel penned and implemented, most of the brownies who manifested the mind-manipulation magic would have been dragged here against their will or would have forsaken their race and started a life somewhere in other territories.

The green-gold trail stopped in a house in the middle of the array. He edged closer to the door, listening for any hint of footsteps. A presence loomed behind him, and he turned too late—

Cyr? A pensive voice speared into his head. He opened his eyes to behold Ravalee dressed in the white robes gilded with gold characteristic of acolytes. He still hasn't found the Quartermaster so he was still in his frilly dress. He could only wonder what he looked like to Ravalee. Maybe she'd break up with him after all this debacle.

He signed her name, not risking to speak even with the voice changer against his throat. Ravalee's eyes glinted with recognition and she pulled him towards the door to their house. The door shut behind him with a terrifying finality. He turned to find her gesturing wildly, telling him of everything she had to go through while she was here.

"Rav," Cyrdel stretched out his hands and spoke to calm her down. Did he speak aloud? Oops.

Her face was a mixture of confusion and hostility for a few seconds. Then, it morphed into an amused chuckle. You sound good, she signed.

Cyrdel stuck a lip out. "Shut up," he said aloud. Again. His voice sounded foreign in his ears. Foreign and annoying. "Airene's waiting at the border. We'll get you out."

Where would we go? Ravalee asked.

It's a question he hasn't thought the answer to as well as he should have. He shrugged. "Maybe Helinfirth. Or something," he said. "We just need to focus on getting out of Alkara at the moment. We can't do that without you."

Instead of being touched, Ravalee's shoulders tensed. She sensed something. Shadows thickened against the morning sun shining against the house's door. Strong hands gripped his arms and attempted to yank him somewhere, no doubt to stuff him there like illegal baggage. The door opened with them in the middle of their frantic scrambling.

Folds of towels flopped to the ground. "Oh, holy Dina," a girl almost Ravalee's age or probably older, gasped. Her hair was hidden by the same fabric of her robes, tucked behind the ears. Other than that, her huge, reddish-brown eyes blinked at them. "The prefect's going to blow off her lid."

Ravalee's eyes widened. The girl's face turned blank, as if she was receiving something from her mind. Understanding blossomed in the acolyte's features as she gave a slow nod. What did Ravalee tell her?

"Why would you need to go?" another girl, this one a bit shorter than the other, said. Her brilliant tawny eyes flashed to Cyrdel in alarm. "Who's this?"

"I'm Cyrd—Cyra," he said, catching himself before he gave his original name. Beside him, Ravalee pursed her lips in an attempt to hold her amusement back for his benefit. "We need to go because we don't belong here."

Ravalee signed to him, urging him to tell the truth. Carel and Lariss will listen, she said.

He sighed. "I'm sent here by the Crown Prince," he said. "Rav's been betrothed to him, you see. And they need to be somewhere because they're currently looking to stop Synketros and free Alkara. None of us have to suffer for long."

Silence.

Then, the taller one, who must be Carel, bobbed her veiled head. "Come with us," she said. "We'll help."

"But we can't promise the others would," the other acolyte, Lariss, added. "We can only cover so much ground."

Cyrdel returned the nod. "We're grateful for any kind of help," he said. "Lead the way."

They're out of the marble hut within seconds. In his mad dash, he hadn't noticed the swarm of black-clad sentries milling about, hands resting on hilts of their swords or in the muzzles of their rifles. It's a miracle he hasn't been pulled over and questioned. Orange light flashed in his periphery, and he whirled to find Carel and Lariss balancing their magic between their palms.

The acolytes met Ravalee and Cyrdel's gazes. "When the sentries started moving away, that's when you make a break for it," Carel said. "Our magic couldn't last against the spells the Head Priestess cast on these vandals."

To call them vandals meant not all of the priestesses and acolytes in Toreza agreed with the Synketrian occupation, much less assimilated with it. Maybe the Head Priestess surrendered upon hearing the destruction Depandes amassed. Looking at the splendor and tranquility of this place, it's hard to imagine giving it up. And with it being a temple with no capacity to take on an armed militia, agreeing to the Sovereign's demands seemed like the best option for everyone.

It's a perspective Cyrdel hasn't considered until now.

He and Ravalee tore through the manicured roads, running like they were being pursued even when the sentries nearest them turned away and pretended to have seen nothing. He wouldn't put it past Carel and Lariss to make sure none of the sentries remembered this day too.

They cleared the edge of the acolyte's magic. The sentries beyond would definitely notice them. Cyrdel made to pull Ravalee back to the shadows of the houses when the sea of black shifted away. It even parted for them. He followed the quick swivel of Ravalee's head to find an older and more experienced priestess standing in front of the door of her hut. She didn't give them a smile, instead pretending to be going about on her day. Still, it was her magic that's making most of the sentries in their vicinity turn a blind eye.

Ravalee ducked her head at the older priestess and tugged at Cyrdel to continue running. More priestesses and acolytes passed them by and more sentries flitted out of the way as they ran. Soon, the manicured road gave way to untouched earth. Toreza has come to an end. A single priestess stood at the lip, appearing to carry a basket of laundry. She met Cyrdel's eyes and a single thought speared through his mind. Avenge us.

When Cyrdel raised his head to acknowledge the priestess, he found nothing but air.

The sentries were starting to break away from the brief spells. They didn't have much time. Cyrdel slipped his hand into Ravalee's, and together, they ran into the line of trees inviting them to be lost in their mysteries.

He didn't know when he'd be back in Alkara or if he would be back at all, but one thing was for sure. He's going to avenge all the lives lost, the freedoms culled, and the grief piled on his people. Daexis would be the witness to that oath.

It did bother him, though, to be making too many promises he had no idea how to keep.