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2412 Xavem 23, Daleth
He hadn't found a merchant selling fairy potions since yesterday. There were no fruit trees, grass, or even any life in the middle of the city. Nobody told him that Rabante was uprooted and that the plateau had come down on top of it. Nobody certainly told him that all the trade routes leading to Helinfirth were closed.
Tough luck.
June spent the day before combing the wasteland of wet soil and chunks of broken wood and bricks. He knew at one point that he circled the plateau before he collapsed in exhaustion and fell asleep without finding food.
So, when he woke up, he was so hungry he could barely move. Not to mention his wound now hurt like his arm was about to fall off and he had soaked through every strip of his old tunic. At this point, he'd start hacking away at his own cloak or his trousers.
He and Xanthy were currently in an abandoned ore mine that was untouched by the landslide but still dusty, dark, and cold—all the perfect conditions to drive people away. He should be safe here. With that, he sat on the cave floor and pressed his back against the cold wall. He rested his head against it and heaved a breath. He had been doing that a lot lately.
He closed his eyes for a moment, keeping his ears open for any suspicious noises. His stomach growled loudly that he had to tuck his knees to his chest to numb the pain. Perhaps, his fate was to die of hunger, alone in this cold and musty cave.
Then again, he wouldn't be completely alone, would he? He had Xanthy and the chalice. If he died of hunger here, who would be lucky enough to stumble upon the Virtakios and a throne that could purify souls? He inhaled a breath and along with it the thick, forest air of Helinfirth. When he opened his eyes, a person with a greenish skin tone was staring at him with his face inches from June's.
June yelped and slammed his foot into the man. His leg sailed right through the chest but never connected. He cursed. A spirit? That only means...
A hasty shield flickered to life with the words barely leaving his lips just as a sword tip clanged against it. If he had been any later, the blade would be buried deep in his gut by now. His eyes traced the sword to an arm covered in gray sleeves, to a face of pale skin, to bluish-green hair framing the face in straight, luscious locks. He knew this face.
Kymalin Iaro.
Rudik's ass. He's doomed.
Kymalin smiled, her crooked teeth almost elongating like fangs in June's view. "We meet again, half-blood," she dug the sword against his shield harder. "Hand over the Virtakios."
June stepped back, expanding his shield to that of a wall separating him and the banshee. "No," he breathed. He made a mistake of using his injured, dominant arm in casting the shield that it now throbbed as bad as his head.
Kymalin just winked before snapping her fingers. Two green-tinted fairies stepped through his shield like it was nothing but air. June's boots skidded against the cave's dry soil as he edged backwards again. Spirits were intangible. They couldn't be touched unless they wanted to. Not good.
