The scent of magic is unmistakable.

It’s a different kind of heaviness that takes Thaumiel by surprise. It’s a forbidden thing in Acadia – to mess with the threads of reality that were cut and spilled forth with the fall of the old kingdom; or so the legend says. Old. Primitive. Primordial. He breathes in and out with a weight that wasn’t in the previous chamber.

As Oriana and Hunter peel off to either side, investigating the room around them, Arcturus trods closer to the Knight. His eyes are sparkling and wide – such a contrast to the rest of him.

Thuamiel can barely stand to look into them, for some reason. He can see the way the arcane dances there.

“You feel it, too,” the starry pelted courser begins. “What a strange place to stumble into. This type of old-world magic – it’s unlike anything else, isn’t it?”

“You speak like it’s familiar to you.”

“It is. The ruins – they’re rife with wild magic like this. Spend enough time down here, and you’ll feel it, too.”

Thuamiel watches the other with curiosity. It takes him a moment to work up the courage to ask the question that’s been burning, there. “Why are you down here? You said the first time we met that you were … just a citizen of the Kingdom of Retrograde. If you were lost before…?”

Arcturus’ attention wanders as the question trickles off. He watches shadows flicker and fade in the corners of the room. “Us moon-children like to try to make peace with this place.” It rolls off his tongue in practiced fashion, though Thaumiel has no other metric by which to measure the honesty of his word. The moon upon his face is brazen and boldly drawn – clearly a child of Retrograde.

“So you just feel a calling, too?”

“You could say that.”

He slipped through his grasp like an eel. Thaumiel isn’t sure whether it’s purposeful or not, or if those of the moonlight just are like that. He seems too cheery to be at home here in the dark. Like he belongs on the surface.

He has a feeling Arcturus has an ulterior motive for exploring the depths, but it’s not one he intends to dredge up, nor does he feel like it’s one he’d yet rightfully earned to hear. 

“That means you do?”

The question being turned around on him makes him pause and consider. There was an undeniable tether that this place held on him – tied around his heart or perhaps his soul; he could feel the threads of it brushing against himself as he moved, as he breathed, as he existed. “I … it’s part of my duty. I’m beholden to it.”

Arcturus only hums in response.

The light that casts reddish-white hues from up above fades in and out as Arcturus moves past. A shiver runs down Thaumiel’s spine. Something about the way this courser moves – it’s like the shadows on the wall, it’s like the space between stars. The line of thought is interrupted by a stark caw – Hunter’s raven, feathers rising as it clings to the mercenary’s back. 

“I think there’s something–” Oriana starts, but Thaumiel is far more occupied by the shape of a courser moving into view. He has half a mind to think it’s another straggler until he sees the smoke-like substance of shadow peeling off of it as if lit aflame.

A few more seconds pass before two red eyes flicker to life where eyes would be on the spectral horse. The point where its hooves meet the floor meld into shadow, which further pulses and moves with a life unnatural. 

How many more of these things lurked in the shadows? Were there more? Or was it just one big conglomerate? The nauseating presence of ancient magic makes it difficult to parse. What was residual, what was current, what was a threat.

As Arcturus steps away, the phantom steps forward. It’s head bows in an aggressive motion as it nears Thaumiel – just a few paces.

He sees malice. He sees the void. He sees–

The Knight’s eye flick to the left, where a long corridor stretches out. He nods to his companions in that direction, the hopeful exit, the implied words not needing to be spoken. Move around. I’ll distract it.

He grips the hilt of his sword with his teeth to the point it hurts. He isn’t sure it would even work for the spectral beast. The metallic taste leeches into his mouth, though he remains until he hears two sets of hooves move beyond him, keeping the attention of the malicious spirit.

Who stayed behind? His mind flits to Oriana, the overprotective knight she was. He wouldn’t have time to know until he himself took the chance to flee.

Something tells him to expect stars.