NEVER FORGET

“Your real friends never forget.”

Ivy’s Gang. A family of orphans who traded their swords for the Queen’s gold, known only to those who possessed such aurelian tender lining their deep pockets. Straight out of Eiden, their reputation for getting things done preceded them.

Until their gang was shattered when one botched job led to the death of their leader, Ivyll Draekehart, and their brother Rimoro.

To worsen matters, the task responsible for such travesties was a direct hit against Sovereign Malice, for a powerfully dangerous artifact was in their possession, and not one of Ivy’s sellswords was aware of it.

Until the cold reality of lives lost sunk in.

Their oaths to Malice given them new life. The survivors of Ivy’s Gang have yielded their lives to the Shadaran throne. They serve as protectors now. Led by the one who once swore to bring them to justice. Their debt to the nightrealm and all that lives pure in the night is a vow they must honor.

A vow they have no problem upholding, for in this vow, there was vengeance.

Gloamshire
Layers Beneath Darkgear Citadel's Blackvein Harborage
Sometime during The Calamity Era

Belladon Tympest was in a suspended, upside-down position, her arms and legs perfectly arranged. She had a peaceful expression on her face, and her hands were steady with calm breathing and a tranquil state of mind.

She had remained still in this position for sometime. Hours, to be exact. Time extended beyond recognition whenever one of D’Vonna Gloomvane’s blackchildren locked themselves in meditation. One could abandon reality and explore the depths of the inner conscious, where the soothing melody of tranquility blanketed the void. The void hosted Belladon’s true identity, a Queziri woman, a descendant of Bale, progeny of warriors—reduced to the daughter of a struggling merchant couple.

Back then, there were good nights and there were bad, and the bad seemed to outweigh the good. Her parents profited poorly, resulting in the seemingly endless cycle of the ends justifying the means, for her parents’ wares were disfavored, and the unprosperous never succeeded.

The devastating thievery of the world breaching artifact, the Paragon Nexium, changed her life in a single moment.

The pursuit of a squadron of sellswords illegally carrying the artifact, only to eventually fight alongside them, was her fate. She had moved on from being a protector of Arcaena to an upholder of the Shadaran reign.

A Warder of Khan.

Her nexus cryst chimed on the table nearby. Soft sounds. Low vibrations thrumming against a flat surface. Belladon never moved. It was never wise to break one’s meditation.

The cryst chimed again. She still didn’t move.

Third time’s a charm. The warder finally moved. Belladon shifted in rotation until her feet touched the ground. She tapped the cryst before the thing stopped ringing.

Belladon blinked and furrowed her brow at the materialized figure hovering over the cryst. A young man. A handsome young man. A familiar young man. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Dael?”

The young man answered back with a grin. “Belladon?”

That was her name. Slipping out of the lips of a person she swore was just a child not too long ago. Time had transpired, indeed. She leaned forward with a slight turn of her head. Not the usual tilting of interest, but a realization that turned to content. She was happy to see him again.

“Look who’s becoming a man.” She smirked. “You’re even growing into your ears. Hold on. How are you—?”

“Don’t stress yourself, sis,” Dael insisted. “You needn’t worry about another breach. Spellshaping a new mantilla isn’t as hard as one might think.”

“What? Dael you’re too bold.” She was astounded, but anxious. Dael was as sharp as a razor. The archivists were wise and stringent. “Watch it.”

“Bell, everything’s fine.” He smiled. They recognized the risks. Did Belladon know what would come next? “Jaspyr’s been guiding me through the arcaene—”

No, she did not. “Jaspyr?!”

“Surprised?” Dael snickered.

“Very.”

“So was I,” he continued. Excited to converse with her. His voice cracked, losing the voice of a little boy. He spoke with assurance. “When you left the temple, he came to me insisting that I focus my studies under his guidance and that the other old heads know nothing about it. Wouldn’t be a good idea if they found out.”

Belladon hummed in agreement as she took a seat next to the cryst’s projection. “Because they just might strip you of your magical bonds and have you expelled.”

“Just might? Oh, they will if they do—and that’s a big if,” he said.

“Of course.” Her response wasn’t complete agreement. It felt like a sudden insight, a realization that even she had not been conscious of. Reasons beyond her reach. Till now. “What’s the reason for Jaspyr’s teaching and why so secretive?”

The Archivist of Arcaena. Respected curators of arcaene. They protected the most powerful artifacts. The preservation of their enthusiasm for mysterious trinkets and confidentiality, as well as their students destined to become the chroniclers of information and artifacts, must be ensured unconditionally.

Why would Archivist Jaspyr teach a child like Dael the powers of magi, the binding nature of spellbinders?

“You know, I would be an archivist like the others.” Dael had no cause to conceal the obvious, regardless of how strange it sounded to Belladon. He babbled incessantly. Spilling the details. Everything he learned from basic cast sessions, complex conjures and enchantments seemed to come naturally. He spoke with such clarity and precision that Belladon was impressed even further. “Jaspyr saw something in me that demanded attention. Honestly, I’ve been taking more books than usual and some of those were deemed inaccessible to the younglings until—as the elders say—time and intelligence dictated us worthy of that knowledge. Looks like I became worthy early.”

Belladon was taken aback, her mouth agape in astonishment. She was unprepared. “You were stealing tomes from the vaults?!”

Dael shrugged, imploring his shameless nature. “I wouldn’t say steal.”

She gave him a silent reprimand. All eyes. Stern eyes.

“Okay.” He caved with a crooked grin. “The vault was pilfered by my hand.”

Belladon exhaled. Her stare eased a little. “Dael.”

“I assure you that Jaspyr was there. He was always there, and I was confident in my stealth spells. So much for that, right? The gray man had me figured out. Every time. Like he expected me to do it, and now look.”

“Well, Ikana’s blessing to you.” Belladon was downright sarcastic. The tension that had been building melted away as Dael explained his stunts and the unbelievable result. She was scared of the repercussions of him being expelled, yet was intrigued to discover what he had been uncovering.

Protecting the vaults was the disciples’ role.

Unless Dael became a temple guardian. “Are the enforcers in need of reinforcements or something?”

“Every night and siesta, they train and patrol,” Dael replied. Patrolling Arcaena was customarily chronic. One could set a timer to the enforcers’ dedication to temple duty. “They mention you from time to time. They’re not sure what has become of you other than your honored release. All they know is that you went from enforcer to seeker to someone important to the world queen.”

“Much has transpired with that.” From Arcaena’s breach to sellswords, dreadspawn, Hellion’s dream, Malice’s grace, and the conflicts following The Untold Night, Belladon endured. She knew more than her past life as a lowly merchant girl ever could. “Interestingly enough.”

Her face was rigid, her concerns painted into every crease and line. Belladon’s Queziri nature had a commanding presence that both intimidated and enticed those she encountered. Her death-dealer scowl sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees wobble. From the other side of her nexus cryst’s arcaene-infused machination, Dael stood content and sighed. The woman he saw as a sister achieved a greater strength in Darkgear.

He could never fear her.

They were oceans apart, and he still found her to be that fighter, vowing to protect. He saw just that in her eyes. She was still fighting. Still protecting. Nothing else. And he smiled.

Because Dael respected her.

“Everything transpires,” he said. “I’m just happy to see your face and to hear your voice.”

His eyes lit up with recognition when he saw the tender, well-known smile on her face.

“I can never forget you, Dae-Dae,” she said.

“I know.” He caressed the back of his head. His nickname caused him to crack a wry smile. “Just like I know about your current occupation.” He gestured a finger at her. “You’re a warder.”

Correct. She swore allegiance to the nightrealm’s Shadaran throne. Interesting for him to know that. “Not quite. But getting there. And how did you come upon this?”

Only one name. “Jaspyr,” he said.

She’d laugh if she wasn’t so calm. “Not my first guess.”

“You know, it dawned upon me one siesta that he—out of all the elders—has the potential to be a spellbinder, himself. He sure talk like one. Archivists are binders if you think about it.”

Belladon shrugged with a short tilt of her head. The temple elders were keepers of the arcaene wonders and played a significant part in Shadara’s Three Pillars. “Point.”

“He even showed the simple and complex binding of spells.” He grinned at what he said next. “Fundament magi and the coils aside, I know how to summon a lesser.”

Belladon stared him down. His grin never left. The silence spoke more truth than words ever could.

“Umbra’s breath,” she said. “You’re serious.”

Dael nodded. Still grinning.

“Daelen Glynt is binding big boy spells.” Her unyielding expression leaked with sarcasm. Then she laughed. “Just who do you think you are?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but when I get there, you’ll be the first.” He looked both ways, as if ensuring none were present or listening, covered one side of his mouth, then slyly leaned towards her. His voice lowered a single decibel. “Once I get out of here, I promise you, not even Darkgear’s Spellbinder Consortium or Eiden’s Dje'Arcaenum can hold me.”

The boy was serious. Serious enough to talk like a man. A determined one. Dael, the little sprite who clung to Belladon’s leg for many nights and siestas, held true to his ambitions. He wasn’t some kid with bright and bubbly dreams anymore. A man Dael had become. The young Visslavian showed out, indeed.

This was good. Healthy, even. He still required guidance. As with all who walked their paths in life.

She was no exception.

Belladon’s voice was laced with caution as she said, “Mind yourself. You are not ignorant to the world beyond Arcaena’s gates. The dangers that be will not hesitate to take you.”

All the while, she had studied him. The result of Jaspyr’s secret tutelage. The boy possessed a bright intelligence and a heart of innocence. Now he projected the potential to impose. To radiate with power. A powerful spellbinder of arcaene machinations. What a presence, nurtured in the lands of Bale.

Ikana’s blessings, indeed.

Dael caught her words with a straight stare. “That’s why Belladon Tympest exists. You stand for those who can’t. And I never had brothers. Probably. Out there. The only one who matters is the ones I look up to. That includes the one I can never forget. You. It means a lot to me calling you sister. I guess you can that you are my brother, too.”

His response held some weight. Strong, just like that look in his eye. The archivists upbringing. The elders were far from gentle going. Dael had a man’s body, but when you looked into his eyes, you could see the innocence of a child. A little brother looking up at her, his big sister.

It made Belladon crack a small, tender smile. “You know, sometimes I wonder if we are the same blood,” she said.

Dael chuckled. Her words may as well be true. “Now you know damn better than to wonder, Bell. In spiritus’ name, we all flow the same.”

The sound of their laughter echoed through the room as they talked. Dael discovered the beauty of Darkgear’s Centra, a machina city of amethyst and obsidian towers stretching into the night. Belladon discovered more of Jaspyr’s secret teachings. At one point, Dael had conjured a night elemental he named Clipse. Despite its lack of voice, the crystal imp was highly intelligent.

He wanted to summon Clipse to meet Belladon. She glanced away and silence fell. She felt something tugging at her, demanding her attention for a moment.

“I’m being summoned.” She looked at him one last time, her heart heavy. “Keep your head straight.”

Speaking with Belladon was like a burden lifted from his shoulders.

Dael waited cycles to see her again. Her voice continued to fuel his aspirations, for he needed that jolt for what he was planning to achieve, here inside Arcaena’s walls. All thanks to Jaspyr showing him the way. Dael assumed that bypassing the temple’s magi-framed mantilla was impossible. Not anymore.

And the spell was only a onetime event. Any other attempt, trouble would crash upon his head with the absolute quickness.

When the nexus cryst powered down, their connection was reduced to a sparkle of cascading light. Having pocketed the thing away, Dael returned to his table of carved earth and crystal and the sound of turning pages filled the room as he explored the vast tomes and scrolls. Shadaran lore. All of them important, Spellbinding books stuffed with bookmarks. One of them was The Coils of the Arcaene, emanating a deep, pulsing power, while the Balen war tome glowed with an eerie light.

Instruments fitting for a spellbinder preparing for something big. Bigger than him.