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The failing of the Chthonic Tower began, like most catastrophes, as mere inconvenience.
It was important to note that Xander did not brood—brooding was for melancholic blood mages with black hair and blacker perspectives. He did scheme for revenge, of course, and he reveled in his triumphs, occasionally wallowed when he was unfairly bested, and there were bouts of pouting too, but brooding was not Xander’s style.
It wasn’t meant to be a confusing feeling, but blood mages were notoriously shit at identifying guilt, and so he just assumed his last meal wasn’t sitting right.
“Yes, yes, I know it appears doomed, but lucky you, this means we’re taking a little vacation.” The griffin knew the meaning of most words but was skeptical he and the blood mage would agree on what constituted a holiday.
Thankfully, most humans were simple enough to assume a man wearing white couldn’t possibly be a blood mage. The fact that white complemented the richness of his dark skin and the silver of his hair was a happy accident.
A shrill chirp jolted Xander out of his deliberation, and he sneered at the jackdaw that had landed on a nearby post. The black bird’s beady eyes stared back, unblinking, its weird little head cocking. Xander scoffed and traipsed away from the creature who so badly wanted to be a raven it was embarrassing.
People just had a look about them, even the backs of people, and Evangeline could spot an asshole from a mellow nettle field away.
And to make matters worse, there wasn’t even anyone around to whom he could complain!
It seemed Xander had not yet reached his limit of cloyingly sweet and ferociously cute women. In actuality, he had, but he would find that out soon enough.
The griffin dug claws and talons into the beams as he lumbered out of the nest he’d made in the sagging rafters, and then he listened as well as anything with the brain of a bird could, which in actuality was surprisingly well, though it gave zero evidence that it sympathized.
The next morning, Xander Shadowhart was someone else—externally, that is. On the inside, he was almost exactly the same save for a growing tug in his chest that had no business doing any tugging at all, unfortunate but also expected since this is only chapter six.
MEN, DEROGATORY
It was unfortunate for Evangeline that she found men to be both endlessly annoying yet achingly desirable. Worse, they were especially irresistible when they begged to be tamed, and somehow one of the least domesticated men she’d ever encountered had peacocked his way right into her shop.
Xander had met his running quota much earlier in the day, so he leisurely strolled around the corner and up to the door that had just been slammed.
“I’m not here to kill you, if that’s what you think,” he called up against the intricately carved door. “I’m bored of doing murder now. I’d prefer a chat instead.”
“Get rid of that rotten sludge and fetch yourselves some meat that had legs, for darkness’s sake.”
It was almost an hour later before Xander Shadowhart realized he had finished a chore for perhaps the first time in his adult life, and damn, he had done quite a good job of it if he said so himself, which he did, loudly, multiple times.
Xander turned his lip up at the barnacle-encrusted vessels along the wharf. “It’s one boat, Maia, what could it cost? A hundred gold?” The number that the boatsman scribbled on a slip of parchment was much larger than one hundred gold—so much larger that it wouldn’t have the same impact if a reader knew it exactly.
“You should take off your coat and close your eyes.” The boy bit his lip as he shrugged out of his own cloak. “And you have to promise not to fight it.” Xander dropped his arms. “Considering the ominousness of that statement, I will make no such vow.”
“Half-human potions,” he corrected because for all of the talking Xander did, he wasn’t completely immune to listening.
Well, he just…could tell her, and then? Of course he would feel an Abyss of a lot better, but Xander Shadowhart was not quite ready for that revelation. So again he flailed.
“Just stab me next time you want to punish me, all right?”
“And I was going to tell you that if I didn’t return to not take it personally because, you know, sometimes death just comes for us, and sometimes we bring ourselves to it, but in the end it doesn’t really matter if we end up dead because that means we usually can’t come back even if we really, really want to.” Evangeline’s mouth fell open, her heart thumping madly. “You were planning to go off somewhere and die?” “Well, I might not!”
“All of you keep your mouths shut or, so help me dark gods, I will turn this griffin around, and nobody will be raining terror or destruction down on anything!”
But pride was an Abyss of a hindrance, and while the idea was a fun alternative third act, his party needed to be made up of the characters who had been influencing him throughout the rest of his tale for consistency’s sake.
“Oh, my gods, shut it,” Maia groaned, hugging the jar of imp minnows as she hopped in behind Red. “Obviously we’re going.” So Xander did shut it because they were already seated and waiting for him, and it was sort of inevitable, so dedicating much more dialogue to it would purely be for indulgence’s sake.
They crept forward, all of them, because even Xander knew that now was the time to creep.
The old Xander Sephiran Shadowhart almost never ran—it was far too unbecoming—but he was a changed man now. And also, things were about to go all cave-in-y.
“What happened to you?” she breathed, hands scrambling all over his skin, slick with blood and covered in welts. “No time, whole place is about to come down, but I promise to regale you later. Care to accompany me in fleeing?”
Bendcrest’s high harbor was tranquil until it wasn’t. The storm came from the coast of the Maroon Sea and swept over the city, culminating in one very specific spot. It drove the few villagers still wandering about the streets indoors, but Xander Sephiran Shadowhart had no trouble walking through the terrible gusts and the frozen rain. Weather was funny like that when one could wield shadows and water both.
I’m only sorry you didn’t get to see it, darling—it was just spectacular.” It was so spectacular, in fact, that the spectacle itself was best left unwritten, just like the exact cost of a ship or a complicated prophecy. Sometimes one just must imagine.
He blew out a breath. “Ah, good. I was worried there for a bit you might have been angry with me for doing all that murder.”
