Chapter Thirty-Three: A Cursed Sight To Behold

Atop a high roofed building, three wizards stood, taking in the revelry before them with grave expressions. 

Confetti flew all over the place--the small, brightly shaded strips of paper littering the smooth cobblestones of the vast city. A chain of unbound wreaths kissed every wall and a line of colourful flags zigzagged above the citizen's heads, slightly dancing against the merry air. Wayfarers' eyes glowed at the festive environment, children tugged at their mothers' hands in fervour and musicians played a hearty melody that reverberated with the gleefulness around. 

Yet Ayra's heavy eyes could see one thing and one thing only: 

The phantom, wicked noose loosely hanging before their heads; a cursed premonition that blurred her vision. 

A wave of shudder rippled through her. 

"Well, well, well, would you look at this. Tyria dancing and hollering when its walls were painted red with blood just two nights ago. What a blissfully cursed sight this is." Valda observed mockingly, biting a huge chunk of her bread roll and intentionally smacking her lips in a way that made Neslyn see red. 

Neslyn glared at her from the corner of her eye before turning her gaze to the city. Her fingers slightly curled around the butter paper of her own roll, growing cold against the strong breeze wrapping around them.

"Either the higher authorities have drilled a false story of foolery in their heads or the Masquerade Night is blinding them with shortlived joy. Or worse," Neslyn halted for a beat, her eyes growing dark. 

"The fear for the demons has simply vanished."

Ayra's own butter roll went cold in her hands at those words. She inhaled deeply, taking in the joyful expression of the people beneath. So sweet, innocent and untainted--eyes that have never seen a demon before and hands that weren't tainted with black blood. She saw herself in them--the Ayra from ten years ago. 

The Ayra before the First Gate opened. 

Her eyes darkened, a little sorrowful and a little dreadful. 

"Such a fear should never vanish." Ayra breathed out, the snap in her voice immediately grasping Neslyn's and Valda's attention. 

"If it did, the entire world would be wiped out under the demons' gaze." Again, she didn't mention. 

It was that very fear that later morphed into a small flame of courage and drove the world to fight against the demons. To hunt and not be hunted. To kill and not be killed. But if that went away, then darkness would befall us again and this time, there would be no light in our souls to fight against it. 

Neslyn and Valda looked at her with an indecipherable expression. Something that paralleled to pity. Ayra quickly turned her face away. 

Ever since she confided them about Ruhnn and Caelan, her two best friends treaded carefully around her--cautious and sometimes, reluctant. 

What changed, Ayra pondered ruefully. Neslyn and Valda knew she was a victim--no, a survivor of the tragedy that happened eight years ago. Knew that Ayra was a hair breadth away from falling into the cold embrace of death. 

But they didn't know the weight of what she had to give in order to keep her heart thumping and now that they know, they were careful. 

Ayra would be lying if she claimed to not hate it. She despised it, despised that now, in the eyes of her best friends, she ended up being a shattered doll than an enduring warrior. The little blazes of pity, the full-blown concern when they discussed and examined about the Gates or the demons and the calculated words all made her see red yet she didn't utter a word to them. 

She couldn't say anything so she simply brushed it off. Brushed it off until she could take it no more. 

Valda, noticing the slight change in her demeanour, made an effort to pull her out of her head. 

"Well, the people down there don't share the sentiment, Stormbreaker." She expressed loudly, replying to Ayra's previous words. 

Ayra slightly shook her head, snapped out of her thoughts and focused on her words. 

Valda was right. 

When they arrived early at dawn, Ayra slightly winced when the breeze offered her a grim welcome. But the feeling immediately disappeared when she took in the people of the city---lucid, bright, excited and so, so normal. Tyria was splendidly vibrant, to say the least. Morning rays of the sun-kissed the colourful roofs of the Tyrian houses, making the city blossom under the fire ball's gaze. And the ongoing preparation for the Masquerade Night simply made the city thrive. 

Ayra didn't know if it was in the way the citizens passed by the previously bloodied walls or the way they easily smiled but something tugged at her heart, something dark and vicious. A sense of foreboding that licked at her spine ever since she stepped foot inside the city. 

The phantom noose seemed to inch closer to their faces. 

Ayra shook her head and observed the streets below. A woman held a golden-skinned mask in her hand and Ayra's eyes zeroed in on it. 

The Masquerade Night, the wind whispered to her. 

The infamous Tyrian festival was celebrated to honour and respect the Sentinel that sacrificed their soul for the betterment and protection of the world. 

Gavin Florenz, the youngest of all the seven Sentinels, was born and brought up in this very city they stood in. At the budding age of sixteen, the young wizard was deemed to be another fitting and willing contender to stand tall as one of the Seven Gates against the demons.

The brave boy who had sacrificed his soul to morph into a Gate in his own home city. 

The Tyrian hero was cherished by his people for generations now and the Masquerade night was proof of that. They celebrated and commended their young legend in his own domain; the Florenz manor. An evening of festivity that involved everyone to wear glittering masks, extravagant dresses and hope on their sleeves as they eat, dance and thank the now resting Sentinel. It was exactly that, a festival that portrays undiluted hope and gratitude and victory. 

Ayra consistently wondered why and how did the young heir of a notable family sacrifice his life for the safety of the world, but just like any other Sentinel, his journey towards this gallant end was unknown. 

Or hidden, for whatever reasons unknown. 

How, what and why. The three inquiries consistently spun inside her head in regards to these heroes. Regardless, to the world, it was a secret that was bolted away for eternity. 

When she first enrolled into the academy, the story of the Sentinels intrigued her. She spent sleepless nights researching about them but disappointment flooded through her when there was little to no information about them. Ayra knew the seven Sentinels' names and their origin but any personal information and their path to such a life-changing decision were unknown to the world. As time passed by, she grew a little less fixated about it but she also realized it would forever leave her in the dark; hungry and parched.

"Everything seems normal around here," Valda observed, pulling Ayra out of her thoughts and to the present. "Do you think it was just some sick joke?" 

Ayra's eyes scanned the large walls of the city. Smudges of red still painted the walls, the only sign of the deadly words smeared on them three nights ago. It was a peculiar sight; the people of the city passed by these walls, not sparing a glance at it. Merry grins were plastered on their faces and it almost looked like they were in some sort of trance. Short-lived happiness as Neslyn mentioned a few moments ago. 

Ayra shook her head at Valda's words. She would've believed her words if not for the flashes of the Council's insignia that caught her attention around the city. The elite Astral Guards of the Council were spread across the city, standing guard at every nook and crook of the city. The citizens brushed past them and their towering, intimidating selves, assuming they stood guard to overlook the festival. But Ayra knew that another reason burned. 

They are not letting their guard down, joke or no joke. 

"Maybe. Maybe not. But the Council's not taking a chance." She looked at her friends. 

 "And neither are we." 

Valda smirked, all fired up, 

"Hell fucking yeah. I'd be damned if those guards get to have all the fun and we didn't." Valda said, popping the last part of her dessert in her mouth.

Nascha shook her head. 

"And there she goes, acting all high and mighty." She mocked but her face fell when Valda leaned forward and took an enormous bite of her bread roll, leaving little to nothing for her. 

Neslyn was seething. She pushed back the sleeves of her tunic, ready to pounce on a grinning-through-puffed-cheeks Valda. 

"Why you little piece of shi--" 

Ayra tsked loudly. "You're cruel, witch. You could've bought another one if you were feeling so ravenous today."

"Where's the fun in that?" Valda smirked and yelped when Neslyn tried to claw at her face. 

Ayra shook her head, chuckling before offering her own untouched bread roll to Neslyn. 

Neslyn eyes sparkled as she stared at the buttery goodness and back at Ayra's gaze. 

"Really?" 

Ayra gestured, eyes warm. "All yours." 

Neslyn took it and drowned in delight. 

Valda snickered before looking over at Ayra, ignoring the way Neslyn shot daggers at her. 

"So, where do we begin?" 

Ayra sent a sweeping glance at the city. And slightly grinned. She looked at her companions and crooned,

"How about we get ourselves a nice jug of ale in a loud, dirty tavern?" 

Neslyn frowned as she munched on the last piece of her roll. 

"Now?" 

Ayra nodded.

"I don't understand. Why now?" Neslyn questioned. Valda leaned forward, curious. 

Ayra smirked at them. 

"Cause the intoxicated always have fascinating stories to tell." 

They shared a look amongst each other at that before grinning widely. 

"Oh, oh oh, I see," Valda said, sharing a wild look with Ayra and Neslyn. 

"What are we waiting for? Let's fucking go then!" Valda beamed. 

The wind whistled softly as they quietly landed on the ground and began their mission.