Chapter 2- Friends

Ambrose saw little of Solanine over the weeks after her promise in the Cathedral. She had been holed up in her study for reasons he knew naught. Even First and Second weren't privy to her work. They stood outside her door from dawn till dusk, though this particular zone of Ostlanar allowed no light to reach them. Not just First and Second, but all of the Omens seemed to be experiencing withdrawal symptoms of some kind. Although Ambrose had never had a proper conversation with any of them, over the years of their service to Solanine he picked up on their habits. Second Omen, who usually stood up straight, perfectly mirroring First's rigid posture, slouched slightly. Third's habit of fiddling with her fingers had evolved to be an ever constant occurrence. The only Omen seemingly unaffected by Solanine's absence was First. He stayed stern as always, hands by his side, facing forward. There was a reason that First was Solanine's favorite. He was a carbon copy of her, and the only one Ambrose had ever heard her address by name– Arius. 

This week, Sixth had retired to his room, bedridden with some kind of disease. The Omens rank in order of their years as Solanine's Apprentice. As the youngest, Sixth was considered the runt of the group. The Omens had barely any camaraderie, and they looked down on Sixth. Of all of them, Sixth was treated the most similar to Ambrose. Thus, Ambrose felt as if he had a connection with Sixth. 

Ambrose had been restless lately. He wandered the halls of the Astrophel Manor during the day, and watched the sunstones flicker out each night. Ambrose was more privileged than most. He was lucky enough to have visited the Gilded zone, the portion of Ostlanar just above his birth zone, the Lightless zone. There, in the Gilded zone, or even higher up, the Nova zone, the Hidden zone, nestled up high in the canopy of the Ostlanar forest, he was lucky enough to bear witness to Ostlan's great gift to the elves: light. 

Among the fallen noble families and those of lower class that inhabited the Lightless zone, Ambrose was one of the rare few that had seen a sunrise. Compared to that, Solanine's performance for the Truth-seekers was a poor imitation. It was like night and day, so to speak. These days, with Solanine holed up in her study, few people visited the Manor. This meant that the sunstones which illuminated the halls were rarely replaced. Long stretches of darkness were scattered throughout the mansion. In the moments where Ambrose was forced to traverse these patches, he missed the sun dearly. What he would give to see that brilliant star, even as spots of red danced across his vision. 

His mind was wandering. Minutes felt like hours, time becoming meaningless with every lap he took around the Manor. He slowed his pace whenever he reached the hall containing the Sixth Omen's room. It was comforting, in a sense. Occasionally he would press his ear to the door, if only to hear his heavy breathing, to remind himself that there was another soul in this big, empty Manor. 

He did this now, laying his head on the door. Ambrose closed his eyes, searching for any sound of life. 

"Little Herald,"

Ambrose froze. The door felt like ice, burning his skin where he touched it. "Why do you eavesdrop at my door?" inquired Sixth Omen. 

Shaking, Ambrose lodged his fingertips in between the door and the frame. If he were to use the doorknob, perhaps the bronze handle would have frozen his fingers solid. The latch clicked, and with a dull creak, the door opened inwards ever so slightly. It stopped suddenly, as if coming in contact with a heavy object. He peeped through the crack in the door, squinting. Another eye greeted him. With a shriek, Ambrose scrambled backwards, slamming against the opposite wall. His scream echoed through the halls, but no one was there to hear him. Luckily. He didn't want to bring attention to the fact that an Omen was speaking to him.

His lungs rattled, taking in shallow breaths. He tried to regain his composure, slowing his breathing, controlling his expression. Even after a minute of calming himself, the fear was still painted vividly across his face. Sixth Omen must've had the same anxious thoughts because he grabbed Ambrose's arm, dragging him into the room. 

The door slammed shut. In front of Ambrose stood the lowest ranking Omen, and now the only one who had ever spoken to him. This was the first time he had seen Sixth without his veil, and Ambrose noted that he looked younger than expected. His jawline was sharp, albeit with shallow cheeks; malnutrition was common in this area of Ostlanar. Of all of his features, the most jarring were his eyes. Hazelnut pupils scattered with golden flakes, a vein of rich minerals half buried in rich earth, screaming for attention. The mystery that was Sixth Omen became more complicated. Yellow eyes were a signature of the Lightless zone due to the dark environment, meaning that Sixth Omen, whoever he was, came from a high ranking family, privileged enough to be from the Gilded zone or higher. 

Seeing him now in a clearer light, Ambrose realized he was wrong, Sixth was not shaken whatsoever. He emitted an air of confidence, so thick that Ambrose could've sworn he was glowing. Though dark circles framed his eyes, he seemed perfectly awake and alert. 

The Omen spoke, "why not ask a question if you seem so curious?". He was calm, possibly not understanding the situation at hand.

A thousand questions flooded through his head, why don't you have yellow eyes, why did you talk to me, how are you so confident, who are you? One question stood out from the rest, 

"Why did you call me Little Herald?"

Sixth Omen beamed from ear to ear, "because you are the son of the Great Herald, and should be addressed as such". The way he said it made it seem so simple, like the answer was obvious. Ambrose squinted at him. He couldn't tell if this person was smart, or just extremely stupid. He spoke as if he was discussing the weather over tea, instead of making a statement that could cost him his life if anyone heard. 

He opened his mouth, another question on his lips, but Sixth raised a finger, shushing him. "I said one question". He noticed Ambrose's look of disdain and sighed. 

"Fine," the Omen flopped down on the floor, resting his arm on the nightstand behind him. The bizarre pose perfectly matched what little Ambrose knew of his personality. "Why don't we play a game?". Ambrose sat upright, curious. From a pocket hidden somewhere in the whirl of silks that adorned him, Sixth Omen pulled out a collection of flat stones, each inscribed with character of some kind. "For every round you win, I'll answer one question truthfully," he explained. Then he smirked, "of course, the same applies if I win,". Ambrose scowled. Sixth likely knew how badly he hated talking about himself. Ambrose felt bitter. As an Omen, Sixth probably already knew everything about him. This was a one-sided match. 

Despite this, Ambrose was curious. This may be his only chance to learn anything about an Omen. He leaned forwards, picking up the stone closest to him. The game was familiar, though Ambrose had only played it a few times before.

Sixth grinned, obviously seeing the engraving of the stone in Ambrose's hand. "A broken hilt," he chuckled, angling his own stone so that Ambrose could see the carving. A steel dagger with a star shaped pommel. "I go first then," Ambrose wanted to smack the expression off of his face. Why did the first Omen he met have to be the most infuriating? 

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"This is RIGGED!" Sixth Omen chucked a stone against the wall, crossing his arms with a huff. 

Ambrose cackled, taunting Sixth with the stone clutched between his thumb and his forefinger. "Six crowns!" he crowed, shaking the rock in front of Sixth's scowling face. "I thought you were good at this!".

"I AM," Sixth ground his teeth. Lies, Sixth was awful at this game. Ambrose, who barely knew the rules, had beaten him seventeen to two. An overwhelming victory. "Just hurry up and ask your question," he grumbled. 

Tapping his finger against his chin, Ambrose muttered possible questions under his breath. He had already asked the most important questions, slowly running out of ideas until it devolved into questions like 'what's your favorite color' (turquoise apparently). "Hmmmm… What's your name?" It was such an obvious question that Ambrose couldn't believe he hadn't already asked. He had never thought of the Omens as actual people before, only figureheads or the equivalent of an enchanted suit of armor. 

Sixth Omen paused, thinking. Ambrose furrowed his brow, "why are you hesitating, do you not remember your own name?"

"No, no I have a name, though I'm not entirely sure I'm allowed to tell you." Sixth squinted his eyes. That was his thinking face. Ambrose had figured out that Sixth Omen has absolutely no control over his own expression. Perhaps that was a side effect of living behind a veil. "If I were to tell you my actual name, what do you think would happen if your mother saw it in your mind?"

Ah, Sixth was smarter than Ambrose originally thought. Ambrose had been so caught up in the first interaction he'd had in weeks that he had forgotten he had to be cautious. 

Sixth had a eureka moment. He moved like a cartoon, so it was always obvious what he was thinking. "I suppose you could call me Tarot, it was a nickname when I was younger".

"Tarot, Tarot," Ambrose rolled the syllables on his tongue, until it was ingrained in his head. He smiled, "I'm Ambrose,".

Sixth Omen– Tarot, laughed heartily, "I know that already".

"I know, but that means we're friends now," Ambrose said. Tarot appeared startled, but recovered quickly. He, too, smiled.

"Friends then,".

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