A Visitor [Sylvais]

[Lang Na]

Days had passed without notice or alarm, and it was almost as if the nighttime visit Vaet had told him about was actually a dream, rather than reality. It would be foolish, however, to dismiss a concern on such simple terms, and well, Death was infamous for waiting even lifetimes for its victims, after all. Lang had not let his guard down, though technically, that was nothing out of the norm. The Fire Kingdom's hierarchy was based on power, after all, and in a position that he had won exactly by striking at weaknesses, Lang was in no hurry to display any of his own. He had only been Ruler for less than a century, and there was much he had left to do, much left to fix, much to accomplish.

Still, it made for restless sleep, and for the fourth night in the row, Lang tossed in his bed, irritated by his listlessness, listless from his irritation. The curtain hanging as a canopy over the bed had begun to singe at the edges, which was never a good sign. He stared up through the thin, transparent material at the ceiling - stone like every other structure in the kingdom, but beautiful nonetheless in its color. Like marble, veins of darker and lighter stone ran along its surface, breaking the monotony of the hue, but even that was not interesting enough to keep his interest for long. It felt as if he were waiting for something that wouldn't come, and waiting ranked high amongst the things he most hated in the world.

Finally, thumping a fist down hard on the surface, Lang sat up with a huff. "Maybe a drink will help me sleep," he muttered, running a hand over his face.

[Sylvias]

An itch that went without a scratch, a plague that went without a cure, and an entrance without invitation. If Lang had drifted into a safe little slumber, a nightmare would have ensued in under seconds. But the Ruler of Fire, did no such peaceful thing. Smoldering eyes watched the lively fey within his canopy. Once Lang sat up, it had been made known that he was not alone. Like an eclipse to blot out the sun, Sylvias stood still at the end of Lang’s bed. Sylvias’ appearance probably wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t bring such an empty feeling with him; there was no way to stop the cold that hung onto him, even in the most hottest places.

With death, Syl did not notice these temperature changes, but he was aware enough -- watching his victim’s faces twist with horror as a shiver went through their nerves, forcibly. Through the canopy, Sylvias could not detect Lang’s facial expression, nor could he really tell if the ruler had taken a notice of him. In a few minutes, he would be able to register Lang’s currents thoughts, and decide if he had been aware of Syl. The Death Fey, however, did not politely wait for these occurrences.

Like it was a request, in a few seconds, Sylvias had his right hand occupied with a cup. “Still think a drink will help you?” he asked, voice merely curious, no sarcasm detected.

[Lang Na]

It was a rare occurrence, but Lang shivered, a tremble that went down his spine. He despised the cold even more than he despised waiting, and as soon as the chilly presence had pricked his skin, the temperature around him flared in response, an action-reaction, causing his eyes to narrow, irises expanding until, for a second, the whites of his eyes were covered completely with black. Every basic instinct told him that this was not a friendly presence, every ounce of life in him told him to be careful, fend it away. Like an animal with its teeth bared, Lang stared at the visitor.

He had never encountered a Death Fey before, but he could begin to understand why Vaet had been so unsettled that day. There came, with the Death Fey, a sense of deep foreboding, like a hole had appeared in front of him, sucking out every drop of good into a bottomless pit, leaving nothing but the cold and uneasiness behind. Lang could feel goosebumps raise on his skin, and though he fought desperately to keep the temperature up, he was no match for something so entirely unnatural. He felt cold, and that, to a Fire Fey, was what death felt like - a cold, endless sleep.

"Of course - what kind of a host would I be if I didn't have a drink to offer a guest?" he asked, voice trying to be painfully level, but shaking with the effort of it. Get out, get out, get -out- would be the more accurate thing to say, truer to his heart, but he didn't have to have experience to know it was probably not the smartest idea to spurn such a visitor at the door.

[Sylvias]

Sylvias’s face didn’t budge, nothing to show from the reaction, or at the increase of power in the tiny space. There only appeared to be curiosity about this Death Fey, intrigued by the reaction, by the response. Usually, the proper response was to scream in agony, beg for one’s life or to leave. Not that those requests ever worked. The canopy still shrouding the two like a protective wall, had kept the Death Fey from moving else where in the room. Syl looked down at the cup he was holding, and then back up to Lang. Awkwardly, his arm stretched out to the living male in offering. “I don’t like questions,” he spoke softly, attempting to feign politeness.

Right after, hypocritically, he countered Lang with his own question. “Is that so? I am unaware.“ Sylvias knew Fire Fey had quenched, their bodies exhausted by their own heat. Feeling the powers off of Lang, what little reaction he had done, hadn’t been enough, Sylvias’ presence defeating every instinctual flame. While Sylvias had an eternity to be in his state, there was a wave of impatience about him, despite the fact he barely even moved.

Little did the ruler know that Sylvias was peering into Lang’s soul. Ruler’s souls were unlike any he had been around, they were filled with colors, sounds and abstract life patterns. He listened to Lang’s soul, to the burning; the crackle of embers within it. Probing deeper, Sylvias found the source of that soul, to his birth parents, childhood, every past segments to the actions that had just happened seconds ago.

[Lang Na]

Despite the fact that neither of them had really moved, Lang felt like he was quickly losing ground. He stiffened, breathing speeding up regardless of his efforts to calm himself. Fire Fey were not easily-calmed creatures to begin with, and this wasn't making it any less difficult. The threat was very real - anyone within a short radius could probably feel it, the keen sense of discomfort, of suffering. Even so, the first thought in Lang's mind as he let the thought sink in was, I would've preferred dying on the battlefield, than like this.

His fingers dug into the sheets, wrinkling them between his fingers. His eyes had reverted to normal - in the presence of a Death Fey, it was impossible to keep up the energy or the will to keep it going. His heart was beating too loudly, his body wouldn't move, inherently fearful even if the mind fought with it, urging him to get up, be strong. It was fruitless - the Death Fey's presence was like ice cold water being poured over a fire. It was snuffing him out. Was he the one it had been looking for? He had not done anything that would attract its attention. What did it want?

"What..." he began to ask, but his throat closed before he could finish. Never in his life before that moment had Lang ever found himself speechless.

At least it's not after Vaet.

[Sylvias]

A hitch in Lang’s breath caused Syl’s attention to focus on the person outside of the soul. The Death Fey’s arm was lowering, the cup slipping out of his fingers. Sylvias acknowledged this type of reaction, and he was disappointed. For once in his reign as a Death Fey, he had thought Lang would be able to speak to him, to react, to continue with his life. The impact of the glass on stone made a crashing noise, loud and sudden. If Lang searched for the noise, he would not find it because Sylvias was no longer standing behind the canopy.

Death was sitting at the edge of Lang’s bed, near the ruler’s feet. Sylvias had his legs hanging off the edge, draped in the thin fabric. Where eyes usually adorned on a face, was a black fog, shrouding the white of his irises and pupil. “You’re in your home, your bed,” the tone in his voice was low, trying to draw Lang out of his petrified state, “Does that mean nothing to you? To be safe?” Because Syl could not stay faithful to being polite, there appeared a smug smile, broadening the dark features into something rather sinister.

“What…” he echoed Lang, mocking, “I want. Is not up to you.”

[Lang Na]

Lang was slipping. He began to lean forward, like he was drooping, but even then, his eyes narrowed, the look feral. Oh, was that how it was going to play, then? He stretched his mouth into a smile. It would be shameful, as a ruler, to do anything less than look Death in the face and grin. "Then what," he asked again, knowing his visitor's dislike for questions and not regarding it, "are you waiting for?"

The fey were often afraid of death on the sheer fact that they were deluded into thinking they could escape it. They were a race blessed with a lifespan that had far outlived the humans, that could far outlive the world around them, and they had grown haughty, thinking it rendered them invincible. They were arrogant in their thinking, and as giants fall with such force to shake the very earth, so did most fey face death with more cowardice than was honorable. Lang held back from shivering. It was so cold, where was the fire?

[Sylvias]

What a pleasing answer! Sylvias agreed with Lang’s methods, and had wanted to praise the Ruler with such bravery. The Death Fey’s smile increased a notch, but even with the muscles stretched, the expression didn’t reach his eyes. There seemed to be a surge from Syl, reacting himself to the question. While he was no God, he had wanted his rules to be enforced. “Your wits are not enough. I will remind you, for you did not hear me the first time: safety.”

He had pushed a terrible thought into Lang’s mind: The closest person to Lang, Vaet, had been disfigured. Vaet’s life had not been there, and his carcass only matched that of a wax doll; the body out stretched toward several candles. The image had been horrifically real, vivid, enough where it was a hallucination. Kindness embarked Sylvias, and he retracted the foreboding image, allowing Lang to simmer back in the presence. Time passed, but it felt like an eternity to Sylvias, refusing to give enough time for Lang to recover from the mental blow.

The humming of Lang’s soul reminded him that he need to hasten their time together. To let a soul that would smile at the face of death, was not something to let go. “I want what is yours, and you will give it to me: your time, patience, and… when the moment comes, your soul.” This time, he had waited, to process how Lang would react.

[Lang Na]

What the Death Fey's presence could not do, the image did - Lang's support gave out, and he fell back onto his pillows, grimacing at what seemed to be in front of his eyes, but was not. It was a terrible thought indeed - terrible enough to draw strong enough emotions that his flagging power flared for a few seconds. It wasn't enough to turn the room ablaze (the other's presence kept it at bay), but it was sufficient for his skin to become searing, and the sheets under his body began to smoke. Then the image overcame him, and like a dying fire, he came back to consciousness with a shuddering exhale.

But his temperament was none the weaker. "I'm sure you don't need permission - you can take what you want, but I'm not giving you anything." This was a one-sided deal, after all.

[Sylvias]

The Death Fey looked toward the door of the bedroom, he heard a noise from the outside. It was another soul, simply making security checks throughout the halls of the kingdom. The strange soul remained happy and had disappeared from the halls. Lang’s soul had been in pain, searing just as the sheets did. To hurt what was dear to a person, had meant taking a chunk of their souls. Which explained why when a married couple lost a spouse, they had died shortly after. Sylvias’s chin was facing Lang, but Death’s eyes were watching the walls.

Because the Underworld had been made of structures from the underground Earth, he had little time to admire man-made objects anymore. There was humor in the stone-like material being the decoration, and even more when it was cotton in Light, and glass in Ice. Every substance to describe the elemental feys. It was like he had forgot he was even in someone’s room, in their life, invading it.

Sylvias’ mouthed Lang’s words, trying to register what they had really meant. He couldn’t just take whatever he wanted, because if he could -- there wouldn’t be a need for their rules. But to give? It reminded him of a soul, who had only thought of giving things, giving so much that she even gave away her soul. Too bad he had no emotions to harbor, because then he would miss that soul now.

“Giving me permission to take?” he asked, finally taking note of his goal. The glass of fog over his eyes shifted to Lang, glancing down at the burnt fabric beneath him. Sylvias’ left hand moved down, to touch part of the fabric next to him, the texture feeling airless beneath his fingers. This gesture probably would not be noticed by Lang, since his mental frame was to focus on recovery, to stay awake. “Since I expected as much, I am here to make a contract.”

“If you do not consider it, then I will take, like you said I could. That would be Vaet’s wings instead. Really, it’s all up to you.”

[Lang Na]

Lang's eyes narrowed, though they didn't blacken - he didn't have the strength to. Up to him? He let out a huff of wry amusement, more like a heavy breath, as if it hadn't had the energy or true amusement to become a laugh, and fell short halfway. "I didn't give you permission," Lang corrected, focusing on steadying his breathing now, rather than sitting up. "You took that too. This isn't a contract. It's coercion." It was tyranny.

With a grunt, he rolled to his side, using one arm to push himself back up. The Death Fey's presence was suffocating, like a weight pushing down everything in the area around it until it withered under the pressure. Fighting that was like fighting to stand while stones were continually loaded onto your shoulders. It took a moment for him to even pull himself to a half-upright position, supporting his upper torso with his elbows.

[Sylvias]

“You’d be surprised, your perceptions of me basically grant me any right to behave accordingly. Which is why your whole living ritual works, because everyone truly believes it saves the soul, so it does,” Sylvias rarely wanted to explain the reasoning, but it wouldn’t matter. Lang could very well go through his Kingdom and warn everyone to perceive a Death Fey a certain way, and they’d laugh right in his face. If somehow Lang had really changed a century of practice, the Death Fey would only adjust their own. Death placed his right palm to his cheek, as though feeling for a sign of a fever.

Sylvias’ other hand rested still in the fabric of the sheets, awaiting on Lang’s movements. Like he was taking a breath in, the Death Fey had reclined his presence. The fog around his eyes started to disappear, exposing lapis lazuli irises. For the time being, he was subjecting himself to be fully present in the living world, breaking his ties off with the Underworld. The cold air would manifest to something normal, but Lang’s senses of danger would not dissipate.

“It is a contract, believe me. Your Kingdom will not be burdened my presence entirely if you accept this. I simply want permission to look for a certain Fire Fey, although I doubt someone with that power is still around, I have orders to search. As you know, there will be no way for your people to see me, for I am a phantom to them, and this will not cause any panic. While I doubt you’d ever ask a Death Fey for any assistance, I am willing to hear requests: what you’d not want me to, and what you are willing to let me do.”

Silence fell after that, the blue settling still, absently. He waited to see if Lang had anything to say before he continued, for this is what the living did.

[Lang Na]

Lang stared at him, as if expecting him to continue. When he didn't, only then did the ruler speak up. "Well? Get on with it. What are your terms?" Because so far, the Death Fey had only spoken about all he could do (for them, to them), but not what purpose the Fire Fey could serve.

[Sylvias]

The persistence from Lang, only caused Syl to sit there longer. His stare bore into Lang, acting like he could see the muscle, bone and enamel hidden by that fleshy mask. Perhaps he could, because the Death fey curled his bottom lip inward, an attempt to hold back a laugh. Yet, there was nothing and his lids lowered, contemplating. Deciding it was best to continue, he went on.

“This order is not something I can share, and if you interfered would only give me permission to kill you and whoever I pleased. I have already asked your soul if you knew anything about this Fire Fey, and you do not, so we leave it at that. As a ruler, I’d expect you’d want to protect as many people as you can. However, when War ensues, you must make sacrifices. When that time comes, those who participate again in another war, will be claimed by me.” Perhaps the Death Fey were trying to prevent senseless killing, another topic he couldn’t elaborate on, and if Lang recalled it was better to not question it.

“This means, even if someone does obtain a body and perform a ritual, it will not work,” Syl’s lids raised a little, glancing at the curve in Lang’s neck that connect to the shoulder. “Don’t not ponder that too much, while it will allow me to enter in homes to take the souls, it will not go as far to allow me to take their families or friends.” There he saw the soul, inkling, breathing, lively. “Having me present will make your Kingdom immune to unlikely deaths, but my protection is costly. I will need something worth bargaining for, which is your soul. This process is as slow as your life, I am in no rush.”

At the moment, he had no more information to offer, but as the future progress: “More terms will be requested, and we will negotiate when it comes, for the future is impatient.”

[Lang Na]

It really was making a deal with the devil. Asking for protection from a Death Fey so that less people would die, only to have that same Death Fey collect on the souls in case they did? What was to stop it from slacking on its job, just so that it could gather a larger bounty? Honor? Did these things even have honor? Did they even understand what it was? This wasn't a contract, it was a trick. It would sound stupid even to the most foolish of fey. It was an idiot's quandary. 'Protection'? And what would be protecting them from their protection?

Lang frowned, his opinion on the 'contract' rather obvious on his face.