Gilded Serpents

Chapter Forty: The Catacombs

I sat at the edge of the cot, mesmerized.

Aixel, alight with the flaming hearth, stood on Milea's bed, brush and palette in hand. I watched as he dipped the tiny brush in the paint, and delicately touched up the glowing hair around Illes' somber face as his dark brows furrowed over voided eyes.

Milea and Ciro were on the floor, huddled over an ancient ink-spotted map, quiet in discussion. Ciro seemed to be completely recovered now, yet he still sat so close to the roaring flames of the fireplace. He scratched his now full beard as Milea bit her nails beside him.

It was a strange moment of peace before the unknown battle that awaited us the next day. Scouts and fliers alike confirmed that the Selphene armies would be arriving by tomorrow, some time in the early morning by their estimation. Although I was grateful for the training I received from Milea, I couldn't help but feel hopeless as I polished the Halmore armor by firelight, each tiny scuff and scratch a reminder of another mistake and misstep.

I looked up again to see Aixel still diligently painting Illes' face, lost in his work. Since I had first met him, he seemed to only wear the same dirty white linen shirt and dark trousers and was seldom seen wearing shoes. And with him practically being raised by such a masterful armorer, curiosity got the better of me.

"Aixel," I started, "Why don't you wear armor?"

It was quiet for a moment, and I watched as Aixel slowly lifted the brush from the wall, frowning.

"Metal doesn't void," he said flatly, not bothering to turn around. "At least, not easily. It slows me down."

Milea looked up from the map on the floor and sighed.

"I tried to make him some wooden armor... and just what happened to it?" she asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.

"Left it in the bog too long. Got moldy," stated Aixel flatly, still too concentrated on his work to look away.

Milea gave a dry laugh then got up off the ground, offering an arm to Ciro to do the same.

"Well now, we've been over the plans about a thousand times now. Everyone with two hands and can stand will be out with us tomorrow with a blade. I think it's finally time we all tried to get some sleep," said Milea.

Aixel dotted the face a final time then jumped off the bed, stretching long arms above him with a yawn.

I nodded, placing the armor on the floor beside me, then pulled the covers over my bare feet. Aixel looked at me, blinking slowly.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Oh... did you want the cot tonight? I can sleep on the floor," I said, jumping up.

But Aixel's eyes only narrowed. I then watched as he shook his head and made his way out of the curtained door.

I looked at Ciro, confused.

"I... You go on ahead, Milea. I'll explain," he said, then cleared his throat.

Before large battles and fights, it was blood mage tradition to spend the prior night in the catacombs amongst the long dead warriors of old. It was meant to be a time of reflection, meditation, and solemn acceptance of fates unknown. Each soldier was assigned a, thankfully, empty stone-walled tomb to rest their head for the night, myself included.

As I stood on the cold ground, dirt ceiling low overhead, before my stone bed for the night, I felt sick. The catacombs were massive, with long rows of plainly decorated stone boxes, filled wall to wall and stretching deep into the darkness. We were joined by a mass of around a hundred or so other residents of the underground, some very old and using long spears as walking sticks, and some who looked even younger than I.