An inevitable outcome

They couldn't waste any more time nor afford any kind of interruption, which is why the moment Fionera's feet touched the ground, the first thing she did was to raise a hand up to her left shoulder and wordlessly tear off the sleeve of her top.

"Give me your leg!" She ordered and dropped to her knees so suddenly that the impact was audible. Then with a kind of savagery that strangely suited her, Fionera jammed the shredded cloth of her sleeve between her sharp canines and proceeded to divide it into a longer, shapeless strip with a sharp tug of her jaw.

Momentarily stunned at her series of unexpected actions, Astil stands there unmoving. Just when Fionera opens her mouth to repeat herself— he quickly offers up his entire leg for inspection.

"Urk!" Instantly she gagged. Fionera flinched back with tears prickling the corner of her eyes. That god awful scent of rusted iron had, of course, become more intense the closer she was to the open wound. With a nose as sensitive as hers it was complete and utter torture every time she so much as breathed.

Right. Inhaling through her mouth like a panting dog it was then. With bile sitting at the back of her throat, deft fingers shakily wound the cloth around the injury on his thigh.

As much as Fionera wanted to run for the hills, halting the bleeding on Astil's thigh took priority over whatever discomfort she suffered. The pseudo-albino needed all the blood he could get, because Fionera was definitely not going to be hauling his ass along with her anywhere if he suddenly dropped into the realm of unconsciousness from, like, anemia or something.

What that basically meant for Astil was that his only bet at successfully escaping was staying awake and alive enough to get himself out past this point. In layman's terms this meant: if he collapsed, then so did their cooperation.

After resolutely tightening the cloth one last time before tying it off, Fionera declares, "There. I'm done!" And sprung up from her position as if there were a fire lit beneath her ass.

Astil faintly grunted at the rough treatment. "Thank you," he manages to say albeit through gritted teeth. He then pulls his leg back so he stands more or less naturally.

His complexion hadn't suddenly changed for the better, but at least it didn't look to be worsening.

For now, that is.

Fionera's nose wrinkled. If only they could do something about that damn smell! Even now it still stubbornly clung to the insides of her nostrils. There was no way she was getting rid of this particular stink any time soon, the very thought of which sours her mood.

Astil didn't quite understand her sudden change in demeanour, but he couldn't really afford to care about such mundane things in regards to their current situation. Instead he tipped his head towards the door they both currently stood in front of with the intent on inquiring about the next step in their shakily thrown together escape plan.

"Is this—" Astil abruptly cuts off when he shuffles his weight off of his injured leg. His expression becomes pinched, enough to form a small crack in his typical mask of indifference. And despite being a very much unwanted patient of hers, Fionera's attention is instantly back on this injured leg of his.

She frowns as she watches the blood stain the makeshift bandage, distantly wondering if she should've spat on the open wound before she'd covered it or something. Her saliva didn't exactly have.. antiseptic properties— but it was better than nothing, right?

Ah, fuck. Barely half an hour spent around the guy and her IQ had taken a dive.

"Is this the place?" Astil steeled himself to finish asking. His face once again donned that look of ice; one that seemed as if nothing could affect him. However, after seeing him momentarily(continuously, even) slip in his guard, Fionera knows this look of his to be bullshit.

"No," she slowly drawls, meeting his gaze as sarcasm dripped from her tongue, "I've led us to a whorehouse." Fionera finished saying with a light roll of her eyes and quickly held out an expectant hand.

The only thing she could've been asking for was the lamp she made him grab, but it seemed more like she was trying to get him to drop his line of questioning with such a well-timed change in subject.

Astil, "…"

Fionera isn't sure if he was stunned into silence or otherwise, but before she could dwell on it for too long, he rather obediently hands over the item.

He says nothing in the end—which suits her just fine.

Once the lamp is in her grasp, Fionera shoves her hand in its open top to disconnect the lightbulb, and at the same time she turns around to face the door.

The moment Astil disappears from her sight, a distorted expression overtakes her face.

From what she'd estimated, they'd been here, at their targeted destination, for roughly just under two minutes. So in total it had been barely ten minutes since she'd slapped together that unstable rune made from her blood; including dealing with the unexpected appearance of Peter.

Sure, she acknowledged that she was prodigal in this aspect— but if whoever their pursuers were, were strong enough to cripple even Astil, who was at the top of his class and just as skilled with the sword as she was with magic and its various nuances; then surely her on-the-fly rune wouldn't have held them up for as long as it did?

Unless they were all purely Physicals with no Mage among them. Which would… explain a lot, actually. The usage of that magic bomb and the real reason, perhaps, on why Astil came to her. When put all together it hinted towards an ignorance of magic as a whole.

And who would be better to exploit that weakness than a gifted mage such as herself?

Honestly though. It was kind of astonishing how dumb(?) their pursuers were — to not even have a teammate well enough versed in magic to properly counter all sorts of things to come their way. As professionals—which is what they had to be, right? Fionera doubted any less than could threaten Astil—shouldn't they have a versatile team? Or were they just not counting on the prince to look for aid?

Well, whatever. The last thing she should be doing is to look a gift horse in the mouth.

A small zap that could've only originated from the glass lamp in her hand tells Fionera that, in her quick bout of absentmindedness, she had been unconsciously channeling magic into it — almost overloading the entire lamp itself in the process.

'Damn it.'

Glass of this kind tended to be delicate. The naturally formed fissures inside of it allowed a current of magic to flow inside if one held enough skill. Excess magic was promptly expelled—which was the cause of the 'zap' that she'd just felt.

Anyway. The lamp shade was the last thing she needed at this very moment, and was in fact the singular Crystalum bulb that lay inside of it. Well, it was less of a bulb and more that of carefully carved ore. The combination of minerals that made Crystalum form made it so that the ore could absorb magic, which essentially made it the ideal storage device.

"Step back," she orders Astil. Her ears easily pick up the sound of his slight shuffling, but before she gets annoyed at how little he'd even moved, she remembers that his leg is heavily impaired. Anyway, she'd told him to step back simply because his hovering was giving birth to nerves she'd just finished burying at the understanding that she could possibly die—

After taking a deep breath, she once again forces herself back into being calm. Now that the effects of that magic-induced "drunkenness" had finally worn off, it was more than easy for Fionera to begin operating their mode of travel — well, she first had to get rid of this obstruction on the door.

The chains crossed over the entire area of the door were an extra precaution. They were never originally there; Fionera had in fact put them up to deter anyone who came down here. She'd even carved dud runes on the cheap metal hoping it would look intimidating enough that anyone would think twice about investigating any further!

… In hindsight it might've been a bit of an overkill.

Still. Fionera tended to practice caution with everything she did. To outsiders it could appear as a kind of paranoia, but to Fionera who knew the truth of her "quirks".. it was terrifying.

This precise, calculated caution had been drilled into her when she was young. The history of her kind being nearly hunted into extinction made it so that any magic or traces they left needed to be covered up.

Such a practice is what allowed the continuation of their village's existence, afterall, there would be nothing to destroy if it couldn't be found.

"Ms. Fionera?"

"I'm fine," she answered, shaking her head when she feels his questioning gaze on her. There was no need to explain anything to him; she doubted he would even understand.

Following this short interaction, a tense silence blankets over them. The two both held their own secrets and maybe it was the realisation of this that they just now understood how scarily little they knew about the person they'd been forced to entrust their life to.

It was quite ridiculous if one paused to think about it.

Fionera simply brushed off these misgivings. It wouldn't do her any good for such negativity to take hold and affect her performance. Next, she expertly found the weak link in the chain, and easily snapped it in her hand. The chain itself was of bad quality—because they were for appearance purposes only. Besides, she didn't want to waste her hard earned money on something that had to be broken upon each use. Which was… kind of her own fault actually.

It wasn't like she couldn't just create a key for the chains or anything, this way just happened to be more fun.

As expected, the chains clink and clunk as they fall apart and swing to either sides of the door frame that they were anchored to. Contrary to what one would think, Fionera didn't make a move to open the door.

Almost without prompting, the magic gently humming just beneath the surface of her skin flowed down the path of her arm and into the ore(crystalum bulb). The colour of it instantly brightened. Its previous pale pink tones bleeding into a more vibrant hue the longer Fionera continued to feed her magic into it.

Once she deemed it full, she then held up the crystalum in front of her and laid it flush against the door.

Fionera let go of the ore and watched with bated breath as it embedded itself into the wood. This part never failed to be worrying as there was always the slim chance that the crystalum ore broke. The potency of her magic remained deadly when contained with no purpose; the output for the lamp's functioning was so negligible that the ore was never under any serious pressure.

If she could, then Fionera would've liked to forgo using the ore altogether. But unlike permanent portals, temporary ones like this needed to have a scarily specific amount of magic fed to it otherwise it wouldn't even activate, or instead cause the excess of converted spatial energy to uncontrollably burst forth.

Which at this stage in its formation, would be like setting off an invisible firework.

Slowly, calmly; a colourless ripple runs across the wood—which makes Fionera let out a sigh of relief.

The hardest part was over.

Even after all the times she had used this method, it never failed to make her nervous—which was a good thing, in her eyes. Complacency so oftenly made room for error.

Following this rippling, words began to appear on the door. Written in that same Runic Script she'd earlier deployed at the entrance to the basement, was the location of its twin anchor. Without it, there was no way to ascertain just where they'd end up; a portal that opened with no known location was dangerous to traverse.

From the centre where the crystalum lay, the surroundings, upon interacting with the Script, then bleed out into a deep blue that eventually encompasses the whole door until even the chains get swallowed by this phenomenon. It doesn't stop spreading until Fionera removes the connection and pockets the ore that'd now lost its shine.

In its wake an enlarged circle with tendrils of Runic Script lay, calmly swirling and warping as if it were alive.

This whole process took less than a handful of seconds, despite it feeling like ages simply because of taut nerves. The high risk of being caught before the link had been established had been continuously thrumming in the back of her mind, but what was even worse was that instead of detention or other forms of discipline that they would be charged with upon being discovered performing unsanctioned runes—their new pursuers would simply kill them on the spot.

"Here." Fionera shoves the lampshade somewhere behind her and ends up knocking it back into Astil's chest.

She'd noticed he had stood quite close to her back, but Fionera's sure it wasn't a shot at being intimate, but that the closer they were to one another, the quicker he could react if something had happened to either one of them; just like he'd done when her window had been destroyed and he sheltered her from the rest of the backlash.

However, when he goes to grab the lamp from her hand—

"You have no magic?" She blurts out, whipping her head around to look at him in disbelief. Fionera had yet to let her own magic settle, and with its own enthusiastic nature, it wasn't all that surprising to find that it had jumped ship. Although not entirely on purpose, this normally would've been seen as invasive—or to the more sensitive: an attack.

An apology sits at the tip of her tongue, except what keeps her from uttering it is the fact that Astil had yet to act hostile.

Was it.. true then?

Fionera was stunned into silence. Feeling him pull away she grapples his wrist and tightens her grip before he could shake her off.

"Fionera, what—?" For someone with the composure somewhat reminiscent of an iceberg; Astil was startled enough to drop the 'Ms.' from her name. It was odd that a royal prince had even used formalities with a commoner in the first place, but he didn't even seem to notice the change either way.

She ignored his confusion and without explanation nor permission, continued to invade his internal system with her magic. But no matter how she tried to coax or threaten his own magic to make an appearance; it seems her original diagnosis continued to ring true.

There was simply no reaction at all from him— which didn't make any sense! Every living creature had a kind of energy held within. How one's magic system presented itself largely depended on genetics, but things like environments and knowledge also played a factor. But for someone who was both of Royal descent and had studied in Starson Academy to not even have a lick of a magic in them? It was completely illogical!

How the hell had he even been admitted?!

"You have no magic," she repeated, except this time it wasn't posed as a question but instead factual.

"I don't?" Astil ends up saying in barely concealed surprise.

His question stumps her.

Was this a new development then? How was that even possible? Somewhere deep in her mind, Fionera was intrigued. This sort of thing was entirely unheard of in the whole of history!

But—Fionera suddenly pauses unsurely. But.. no, it wasn't.

You see, Fionera had grown up listening to various kinds of folklore that used to give her endless nightmares as a child. There was a creature repeatedly spoken of, a cursed being that had wondered too far from home, only to wake up to a starless sky with a still heart and a body void of magic. They had become a creature of the night that endlessly lusted for mindless slaughter and blood; the latter of which it used to sustain its unliving body.

A younger Fionera had grown up afraid of the dark forests surrounding her village—of the moon when it shone round and full in the sky because that meant she no longer had the protection of the sun.

Those were just folktales though, right? To make sure the younger generation didn't stray too far, and committed to a safe curfew without the need for it to be enforced.

.. Right?

'Ahh, forget it!' Fionera forcefully shook off the numbing cold that crept up her spine.

If he didn't have any magic, then there was no way for her to key in his signature for the pathway to recognise and accept his transportation. What she'd have to do instead is trick the energy into thinking it was her that was travelling. This meant that Fionera couldn't then travel at the same time as him — which suits her just fine, because now that they're here, she didn't plan on going anywhere further with him.

If whoever was after Astil still hadn't come upon them when there were scarily little obstacles between their two opposing sides, then she was rather confident that she could pull off sending him on his way, and have enough time to spare for her to go blend in with the partygoers who were still going strong if the continuous thudding music was any indication.

Fionera abruptly let go of his wrist. With a dangerous 'fuck it' kind of mentality, she caressly flung either hand onto each side of what could no longer be called a "door".

Pulse after pulse of her magic was sent directly into the Script that had shown itself in a haphazard shot at speeding up the process. The rune was already fully activated at this point, so the most such an addition could do was enlarge its area of effect.

Immediately the words become incorrigible. Gravity seems to take hold and they're pulled inwards until they've disappeared completely.

Eventually the pathway stills.

With a heavy wheeze, Fionera yanks her hands away, which effectively cuts the formed portal off from her magic. Being connected to the rune as it weaved a spatial tunnel out of her magic was one hell of a ride.

"Fionera! Are you well?" Cold hands gripped her shoulders.

Astil.

She shrugged him off and stepped aside. Still now her ears rang, but she didn't forget to draw a line between them. She didn't need him worrying about her—they were barely acquaintances and she preferred it stay that way.

Astil drops his hands at her unexpected coldness. He lightly clenches his teeth and slowly steps forward. However, not moments later he stops again, just shy of the path's entrance. The force of it tugged at his tattered clothing and pulled it into its swirling mass but he remained unbothered.

"Thank you," he says, and finds that he means it.

"It was no problem, your highness!" Fionera quickly replied and then proceeded to bow as she proclaimed, "May your light shine as one with the King, and your travels remain safe!" For probably the first time since their meeting, she had treated him with all the respect and honour one should when speaking to royalty.

Still in a bow, Fionera genuinely smiled at the floor. Finally… Finally..! She had finally rid herself of this ticking time bomb that was Astilon Von Rougeir!

A moment passes. Then two, and three.

"Rise." He commanded, and then said no more.

Fionera didn't even hear him move—which surely couldn't be right? She straightens from her bow rather unsuredly and peeks at him. Contrary to what she'd thought, Astil hadn't done the sensible thing and thrown himself through the portal.

Huh, Fionera couldn't help but narrow her eyes in suspicion. By coincidence the two of them make eye contact.

A rock sinks into the pit of her stomach at his unreadable gaze; cold sweat gathers at the back of her neck.

Instinct.

And yet even though she was already on high alert, Fionera never expected him to reach out a pale hand to grip her wrist. He was slow, shakey; but perhaps it's because she didn't see him as a threat that he'd been able to bypass an instinctive reaction.

"What are you doing." She blankly stares at his fingers. To test his grip, she lightly pulled her arm back. However, when his fingers didn't loosen any, her brain had almost shut all the way down as she tried to make sense of what he was trying to do.

Was she really going to have to fight him?

Here? Now? The irony wasn't lost on her, however. Just earlier Fionera had done practically the same thing to him. She at least had a reason to do so, but he.. didn't really, right?

Unless..

'No,' she thought with a dawning, sudden sense of horror, 'he isn't—!'

Astil's lips twitch into a smile as he watches her face morph into a series of different expressions. It was quite entertaining, even more so refreshing to see someone wear their truth so clearly.

At this very moment, Fionera comes to a realization of 3 things, all pertaining to this companion of hers.

1. That despite his lack of magic, he had held onto an item without it being visually seen in neither of his hands; this "item" being her lamp.

2. Whatever aforementioned ability it was, was most likely linked to his bizarre intermittent show of unnatural strength and perseverance, so much so that it helped him get the drop on her.

"Who said this was goodbye?" He quietly said amongst her running thoughts. With a strong tug that surprised the both of them, Fionera stumbled into his side.

'Son of a bitch!' She almost bites her tongue being caught off guard. Her eyes widen as she stares down at her feet in disbelief (and perhaps betrayal).

—which brings us to: 3. The reasoning for Astil's bizarre sequence of actions suddenly becomes clear to her—but it's too late.

Fionera ends up clearing too much of the portal's entrance to back away now, and so colourful expletives violently fall from her lips the moment the spatial pathway closes around them both, swallowing whatever protests she makes.

Not a single breath later, a group of hooded individuals swarm into this damp, dark corner of the hallway. Various pieces of their clothing were either ripped or had visible burn marks. Their forces were already small, but now seeing all members present — they could pathetically be counted on one hand.

The corridor's new inhabitants all freeze when they realise their target is nowhere to be seen.

".. We were too late," one of them states as if it wasn't already obvious to everyone present. Still frozen, a few of them can't help but tense up, angrily gripping their unsheathed weapons at the meaning of this useless statement.

Not only had they been dealt irrevocable damage by their target—but they hadn't even managed to successfully capture them...!

What a blow to their pride this was!

Ignoring the reactions of their subordinates, the apparent leader of this group takes big strides back the way they came and orders the rest of them to follow with a swift wave of their hand.

"Move! Report back to…"