718 Zi’da 41
A certain someone had been following him for the greater half of a break. It wasn’t a mystery, not with the persistent, electric scent of ether in the air. The defier had returned - far earlier than Mathias had been expecting him to -, and, like most Quacians, he had thought it best to play a game. While Robin had shown he was quite capable - and certainly his better in terms of raw, etheric strength -, he moved without fear of what the fuming young man was planning. He was well aware of his own limits and what Robin would need to overcome them.
Mads. The earth carried the name through the bedrock that crept under the ruined city. It whispered across fault lines, tracing along valleys and rolling hills. The Under seized with wild magic spent on a single purpose.
Finding that albino string-bean and knocking him down a peg.
The air sparked and cracked dry around him. Robin breathed in what little moisture weighed down the wind, breathing out almost-fire. Static jumped out from him, dancing along his skin. It bit into whoever chanced closest, yelps and gasps trailing him from behind. The earth urged him to be careful, to wait, a fragile mountain top holding out to avalanche. He ignored it.
And so he followed Mads’ every footstep from a distance. He was harder to sense, his magic keeping him almost invisible - almost. Where before there had been an odd absence, he could finally hear the rhythm of his feet against the stone, his breath on the wind. He wasn’t prepared - or he didn’t seem to be.
They wound their way through the streets and, slowly but surely, the numbers of passersby began to falter then dwindle steadily away until there was not a single soul left.
Just the two of them, one after the other.
Mathias had spent his entire life within Quacia - both in and around the city itself - and, while it was true he had not wandered down every street and ally nor knew infallibly to location of each and everything thing that could be found within the protective walls sealed by Condemnation, he knew exactly where it was people didn’t go. Taking the opposite path of every twist and turn the close-knit buildings and garbage blocked alleys allowed him that any other common Quacian might eventually led them to where they were now - isolated and far from any of the Dragoons who prowled the streets, purifiers in hand, sniffing out the remnants of violence that still flickered in the hearts of the restless Heaps.
The buildings - ancient, collapsing, and clearly unused for at least a decade if not longer - crowded close to one another, only two paths leading into the decrepit square who’s center was occupied with the remains of what vaguely resembled either the base of some long since toppled statue or the basin of a fountain. Most of the buildings’ entrances had been bricked over, the newer, brighter stone offensively novelle against the austere beauty of the past - even in such disrepair as it clinged to what little existence it had left.
A certain someone had been following him for the greater half of a break. It wasn’t a mystery, not with the persistent, electric scent of ether in the air. The defier had returned - far earlier than Mathias had been expecting him to -, and, like most Quacians, he had thought it best to play a game. While Robin had shown he was quite capable - and certainly his better in terms of raw, etheric strength -, he moved without fear of what the fuming young man was planning. He was well aware of his own limits and what Robin would need to overcome them.
Mads. The earth carried the name through the bedrock that crept under the ruined city. It whispered across fault lines, tracing along valleys and rolling hills. The Under seized with wild magic spent on a single purpose.
Finding that albino string-bean and knocking him down a peg.
The air sparked and cracked dry around him. Robin breathed in what little moisture weighed down the wind, breathing out almost-fire. Static jumped out from him, dancing along his skin. It bit into whoever chanced closest, yelps and gasps trailing him from behind. The earth urged him to be careful, to wait, a fragile mountain top holding out to avalanche. He ignored it.
And so he followed Mads’ every footstep from a distance. He was harder to sense, his magic keeping him almost invisible - almost. Where before there had been an odd absence, he could finally hear the rhythm of his feet against the stone, his breath on the wind. He wasn’t prepared - or he didn’t seem to be.
They wound their way through the streets and, slowly but surely, the numbers of passersby began to falter then dwindle steadily away until there was not a single soul left.
Just the two of them, one after the other.
Mathias had spent his entire life within Quacia - both in and around the city itself - and, while it was true he had not wandered down every street and ally nor knew infallibly to location of each and everything thing that could be found within the protective walls sealed by Condemnation, he knew exactly where it was people didn’t go. Taking the opposite path of every twist and turn the close-knit buildings and garbage blocked alleys allowed him that any other common Quacian might eventually led them to where they were now - isolated and far from any of the Dragoons who prowled the streets, purifiers in hand, sniffing out the remnants of violence that still flickered in the hearts of the restless Heaps.
The buildings - ancient, collapsing, and clearly unused for at least a decade if not longer - crowded close to one another, only two paths leading into the decrepit square who’s center was occupied with the remains of what vaguely resembled either the base of some long since toppled statue or the basin of a fountain. Most of the buildings’ entrances had been bricked over, the newer, brighter stone offensively novelle against the austere beauty of the past - even in such disrepair as it clinged to what little existence it had left.
