#zeika

[ciudaddeplastilina]

[prjctc]

From the Skin

“So the king turns tail and runs? That is quite unlike you, Marco.” Stelzkan approached the group, hands held outward in a show of respect. Whether or not it was sincere was best left to interpretation.

“What is your business here, thief?” Mekha’s muscles tensed, his golden eyes piercing through the man who he considered to be a thorn in the kingdom’s side for far too long now. Marco raised a hand, however, and he begrudgingly calmed himself.

“Stelzkan,” the king of Light’s Cradle nodded before approaching him, “surely you realize that Oblivion cannot be stopped?”

“Cannot? Or will not?” He took a cautious step back, “Would your father agree with such thinking, I wonder?”

“Father would have fought to his dying breath, as will I. But in my present state, I would do little to even dent the pride of a primordial.” The crimson-haired ruler’s eyes fell in pain, “I realize what this means for my home, my people. But there is much more than them to worry over. There is so much more that is at risk here.”

Stelzkan gritted his teeth, fist clenched. He turned from them, however, crossing his arms. Perhaps Marco was right, as little as the thief would ever like to admit that, “Then what do I do? Die with the rest of your people, Angelborn?”

“Sorry for my tardiness,” Zeika, the second of Marco’s court mages interrupted, black hair poking out from beneath his hood, a pile of books filling his arms as he made his way through the tunnel, “A suggestion, my king. Perhaps there is something which could aide Stelzkan. Not much harm it could do at this point, is there?”

“Hm?” Marco thought for a moment before realizing what the young man could mean, “Ah, yes, the Shawl of Artemis.” He chuckled as he noticed the thief’s ears perk up at the artifact’s mention, “My father was buried with it. Surely you of all people know where his grave marker lies.”

Stelzkan smiled.