6. Sarilian

six

Sarilian

Sarilian had thought Daybreak a marvel, grander than anything ever constructed on the Mortal Realm. But gazing upon Twilight with his darkvision-enhanced sight, he felt certain he'd found suitable competition.

While Daybreak had been built to feel light and airy, a city of gilded spirals stretching impossibly high toward the Dawnlands' glowing sky, Twilight was the exact opposite. Black and gray buildings were crammed so tightly together that you'd have to squeeze to fit through many of the narrow passages left between them.

There was none of Daybreak's carefully maintained uniformity. Instead, a mishmash of architectural styles competed for your attention, each more elaborate than the last. Striated patterns in more shades of gray than Sarilian would've dreamed existed flickered over everything, bringing the buildings and streets to murky life.

Beside him, Malorg shifted, his voice soft when he spoke. "The dome is my favorite."

Sarilian's eyes drifted upward, and he drew in a sharp breath. Where he'd expected to find curved dark stone blotting out the sky, he instead found an ever-changing vista. Unlike the more abstract patterns on display elsewhere, the lines of the dome traced things Sarilian recognized, alternating at random intervals. There, a series of faces, soon replaced by an intricate map of the Mortal Realm, only to shimmer and reform again into a simulated night sky replete with orbiting planets and twinkling stars.

"You know, it's strange," Malorg said as the night sky shifted to an impression of a raging storm with roiling clouds and flashes of lightning. "I've never actually seen most of the things the dome depicts. How could I have when they are from the Mortal Realm? And yet…"

"And yet, they seem familiar all the same," Sarilian replied.

He turned to find Malorg giving him an inscrutable look. Sarilian realized then how close they stood to one another, their shoulders almost brushing. He fought the urge to lean in. Not because he didn't want to—there was no denying the pull the enigmatic Infernal had on him, even if he couldn't explain it—but because he wasn't sure how Malorg would react if he did.

Does he feel our connection as well?

Instead of giving in to his desire, Sarilian said, "Thank you. For showing me this."

The barest hint of a smile flickered over Malorg's lips. "This? This is only the beginning. Come."

He offered his hand again, and Sarilian took it without hesitation, relishing the strange chill the contact sent radiating through him. He could no longer tell if that was an effect of the duskflame or simply his reaction to Malorg's touch.

Sarilian let his eyes rove around as Malorg led them deeper into the city. There was so much to see , each new building or street a grand monument onto itself. The overall effect should have been discordant. Yet somehow, engulfed in the perpetual darkness of the Dusklands, it conveyed ephemeral beauty instead of madness. This wasn't the purposeless chaos of the Void but freedom of expression—a testament to individual wills with competing visions that nevertheless united to create something greater than their disparate parts.

"Is it me, or are the streets too empty?" Sarilian murmured to Malorg. He'd spotted only a handful of Infernals, most of those glimpsed from afar on balconies or rooftops.

"Oh, there are plenty of us here. You simply need to know where to look."

Squinting, Sarilian performed a more careful survey of their surroundings. The street appeared deserted save for them and the shifting patterns that coated every surface.

"I don't—" he began to say, cutting off when an Infernal suddenly materialized right beside them. Sarilian tensed, bracing himself for a fight, but the Infernal gave them only the barest of passing glances before continuing on her way, vanishing through a door Sarilian hadn't even noticed set into a nearby wall.

Duskwalking , he realized, his eyes widening as he took in the countless shadows flitting past. He'd assumed them all part of the magic of this place, but many must be Infernals using their duskflame to quickly travel from place to place. That also helped explain the narrow streets and even narrower alleys. There was no need for anything wider than a crack when you could sink into the shadows at will.

"Doesn't all that duskwalking get exhausting?" he asked, watching a dark blur rush past them and vanish up the side of a building.

A couple of steps ahead of him, Malorg shrugged. "Does maintaining your armor and spear wear you out?"

Sarilian considered the question as Malorg led them down an alley so tight, they had to turn sideways to fit. "I suppose not. Only when I've already exhausted my magic. With a full reserve, it's as easy as breathing."

Malorg shrugged again as if to say, Well, there you go . "Same for us with duskwalking. It's the first thing new arrivals are taught: a method of travel and defense both."

Sarilian snorted, brushing a hand over his tunic. "Personally, I'd prefer armor to blunt a voidspawn's claws."

"What need is there for armor when you can simply avoid getting hit?"

Sarilian rolled his eyes at the Infernal's back, but before he could reply, they were out of the narrow alley and into… Once again, Sarilian found himself at a loss for words, only capable of staring.

Malorg kept walking for a moment before he realized Sarilian had stopped. He looked back, eyes questioning. "You coming?"

Sarilian swallowed, slowly scanning the area. "What is this place?"

The corners of Malorg's lips twitched. "This is the Market."

Hundreds of Infernals filled the cavernous room, browsing stands erected in no discernible organization. Like a tiny version of Twilight itself, each had a unique style, some curved and low, others towering over the crowd.

Sarilian's eyes locked on one of the stalls, and he pointed. "Hey, that one looks like Daybreak!"

Malorg tracked Sarilian's indignant finger to the black-spired stall, faint amusement plain on his face. "So it does. Rather improved though, don't you think?"

Sarilian grinned. "Hey, not everything needs to be a wild mess to be engaging! Daybreak is spectacular enough just as it is. It…" He trailed off as he fully registered what Malorg had said. "Hold on. How do you know what Daybreak looks like?"

In an instant, Malorg's mirth vanished, replaced by his usual stoic mask. "Let's go." He resumed walking, cutting a path through the crowd. Sarilian hurried to catch up, cursing the unfair advantage Malorg's ability to slide in and out of the shadows offered him.

Just when he'd given up on an answer, Malorg said, "I visited as an emissary once."

"An emissary?" Sarilian prompted when Malorg didn't offer any more.

Malorg gave a curt nod as he slipped past a pair of chatting Infernals. "It was a long time ago."

Sarilian tried to follow and ended up bumping into them, apologizing profusely while they berated him for not watching his step. The irate Infernals fell abruptly silent when they noticed Malorg glowering at Sarilian's side. Their eyes widening with fear, they stammered apologies of their own before fleeing into the crowd.

Sarilian watched them go before turning to Malorg. "Do you know them?"

Malorg's lips pressed into a thin line as he resumed walking. "Twilight is a small place."

Another deflection. Despite his burning curiosity, Sarilian decided it was best not to push. Given Malorg's current tense demeanor, that might only make him close up even more. Instead, Sarilian focused back on their surroundings.

"You said this was a market? Does that mean this is where your people come for supplies?"

Malorg gave him an odd look. "It means this is a market . Surely, you know enough of the Mortal Realm to recall those. Where people exchange currency for goods and services?"

Sarilian's brow shot up. "Hold on—you're telling me you Infernals still charge one another for things?" It seemed like such an outlandish concept to him. In the Mortal Realm where resources were scarce, such systems made sense. But the Immortal Realm provided all they needed. They could shape their magic into anything they desired, and nothing ever wore down or degraded. "What do you even use for currency?"

Malorg produced a small pouch and proffered it to Sarilian. Curious, Sarilian reached inside, pulling out a black coin with a gray mark on it depicting a stylized crown.

"Courtesy of the Dusk Aspect of Ambition," Malorg explained with an odd note to his voice while Sarilian turned the innocuous object over in his hands. "Imbued with the duskflame signature of his seat to thwart any attempts at counterfeiting."

"But… why?" Sarilian demanded, flabbergasted. "What's the point?"

"There isn't one—at least, not that I ever saw." Malorg turned his head to take in the stalls and haggling Infernals around them. "But I suppose for others, it represents something to strive for beyond slaying voidspawn. Those with more wealth are afforded greater prestige and granted better assignments, more luxurious quarters, and increased favor by the Dusk Council." Malorg's expression darkened. "Such achievements give their lives meaning."

Despite the tightness on Malorg's face, Sarilian didn't miss his wistful tone. Meaning that you feel your own life lacks , Sarilian guessed, studying the Infernal's back as they resumed walking.

He wished he had the words to offer comfort, but he wasn't certain what more to say than he already had. Besides, no matter how desperate Malorg's need for purpose was, Sarilian doubted he'd find it here. The pursuit of wealth might be ingrained in Infernal culture, but to Sarilian, it seemed like a poorly disguised ploy to raise the few while suppressing the many.

Still, as they perused the various wares on display, Sarilian had to admit a budding excitement at what they might find. Celestial goods were all uniform, the armor and weapons each Celestial learned to conjure as identical as their assigned quarters.

Here, however, enterprising Infernals had wasted time and effort learning how to forge their duskflame into desirable baubles and decorations. Ceramics engraved with eye-catching patterns. Tapestries enchanted to capture the outline of a specific face. Jewelry glittering with living shadows.

Mixed in with these, he spied all manner of blades, clothes, and armor. Though functionally no different from what any Infernal could craft for themselves out of duskflame, these bore elaborate flourishes designed to make them stand out from their more common ilk. Utterly unnecessary…yet oddly captivating in their lavishness.

Eventually, Sarilian and Malorg found themselves standing before the stall inspired by Daybreak's spires. The Infernal manning the booth gave Sarilian a broad smile as he approached.

"Welcome, welcome!" The Infernal swept arms laden with enchanted bracelets out in greeting. "How may I assist you? Perhaps you need a little trinket to surprise a special man or lady? Or how about a lovely new tunic? Forgive me for saying so, but yours appears a little patchy. Mine are of only the finest quality, guaranteed to withstand the wear of decades." He gave Sarilian an appreciative once over. "I have several that should highlight the gray of your eyes and emphasize your rather prodigious—"

"We're just browsing." Malorg stepped up beside Sarilian, crossing his arms with a scowl.

The merchant glanced between them before his gaze settled on Malorg. "Of course, Malorg, sir. Apologies if I caused any offense. Please, let me know if you require my assistance."

Bowing his head, the merchant retreated. Like that pair of Infernals I bumped into all over again , Sarilian noted. Clearly, Malorg's reputation preceded him.

Sarilian watched the merchant single out another passing Infernal to repeat his enthusiastic pitch. The man didn't carry himself as one trained for battle—his movements were too uncoordinated, his balance completely off. "Don't all Infernals learn how to fight?"

"In theory." Malorg studied the merchant with a pensive frown. "The Dusklands receives fewer recruits, making those we do have all the more crucial. But that doesn't stop some from weaseling their way out of it or seeking alternative occupations."

Disdain narrowed Sarilian's eyes. Bad enough to expend energy on so selfish a pursuit as personal profit. But to do so while shirking the Covenant…

"Our entire purpose is to fight. To protect the rest of Allaria from the Void. What right does he have to forsake his duty?"

The look Malorg gave him was sharp enough to pierce steel. "Weren't you the one who told me there was more to this life than fighting?"

Sarilian winced at having his own words thrown back at him. "Well, sure. But—"

Malorg wasn't finished, his dark eyes furious whirlpools that threatened to suck Sarilian under. "Who are you to condemn those who seek fulfillment however they can?"

To that, Sarilian had no answer. Malorg was right—Sarilian didn't know what motivated this merchant any more than he understood the past pain Malorg carried. It wasn't fair to expect others to honor the Covenant in the same manner he did.

He released a long breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to judge so harshly."

Malorg grunted, a bit of his tension easing. Sarilian turned back to the merchant's wares, trying to view them with a less critical eye. There truly were some stunning pieces. For all his pushiness, the merchant obviously knew what he was doing.

"If you tire of war, perhaps you could pursue a craft?" Sarilian suggested, his voice hesitant. He ran his fingers over a stunning jerkin shaped like the interlocking scales of a snake, surprised at how soft the woven duskflame felt. "Or find some other duty here in the city."

Malorg huffed a humorless laugh. "What happened to defeating the Void together?"

Withdrawing his hand from the armor, Sarilian turned to face the Infernal. Determination thrummed through him. "I meant what I said about accomplishing the impossible. But that could take years. I don't want you to throw your life away on unwinnable battles in the meantime."

Malorg's mask returned, his expression hardening. "War is all I know. Besides, you were right." He gestured to the room, a flicker of sadness lost in the smoky depths of his eyes. "In the end, none of this matters. We exist to fight the Void—nothing more. And when we eventually fail, the rest of this will crumble to ash. Just as we will."

Sarilian silently cursed his big mouth as Malorg started to drift away into the crowd. Merciful Light, why hadn't he kept silent? Instead of offering Malorg hope, all he seemed capable of doing was bolstering Malorg's own hopelessness. So what if some Infernals wasted their time on frivolous pursuits? As long as they maintained their defense of the Dusklands, let them do as they pleased.

Desperately, he tried to think of a way to cheer Malorg up—to shock him out of this fresh melancholy. His eyes returned to the wares, and he blurted, "Wait! I want one."

Malorg froze, casting a disbelieving look over his shoulder. "You want an Infernal trinket?"

Sarilian nodded, raking his gaze over the assorted baubles. His eyes stopped on one, and he smiled, pointing. "That one!"

Malorg hesitantly followed Sarilian's finger. When he saw what Sarilian had chosen, a surprised chuckle escaped his lips.

The pendant hung on a black chain so thin the entwined wisps of shadow seemed to disappear. The pendant itself was circular and bore the Celestial crest in shifting grays: a triangle pointing upward with five diagonal lines slicing through it from different angles on the left like rays of light, all meeting in the triangle's center.

Why an Infernal merchant was selling a Celestial crest forged from duskflame, Sarilian hadn't a clue. Perhaps it was part of his theme, what with the spires of Daybreak on display. Either way, Sarilian couldn't imagine a more appropriate gift to represent his time here.

Sensing a potential sale, the merchant wandered over, eyeing Malorg warily at first until he confirmed his instincts had been correct. They briefly haggled over the price, but Malorg didn't much seem to care, handing over the requested coins with hardly any argument.

Within moments, Sarilian was following Malorg toward the Market's exit. Sarilian rested a hand on the pendant around his neck. He'd worried how it might react to his dawnflame, but for now at least, it was a soothing pocket of cold against his breast.

Like Malorg's hand when he touched me.

Sarilian hastily buried the thought and asked, "So, where to now?"

Malorg glanced over at him. "You haven't had enough yet?"

"This might be my only chance to explore the city. I want to see all I can before I go."

An almost mournful expression flitted over Malorg's face that made Sarilian worry he might have overstayed his welcome. But to his relief, Malorg didn't protest. "Very well. Follow me."

Anticipation building for their next stop, Sarilian was only too happy to obey.