Chapter Text
His breaths came out in short and strained pants, each one sending a fire into his lungs. His knees were shaking, almost unable to support the rest of his body. Sweat beaded his forehead, plastering the thin strands of chestnut-colored hair that stuck out from under his hat to his skin. He could feel a small stream of blood trickle from his brow, running down his tan skin slowly. His left arm hung limply at his side, no longer useful after having been crushed not two minutes ago. He grit his teeth, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins working to dull the pain that was radiating up the injury.
Two dark shadows fell over him, the towering forms in front of him moving closer to their prey. He could no longer see them, a blackness seeping into the edges of his vision from the exhaustion that wracked through him. Instead, all he could see were two gargantuan figures that shifted from two to four as his vision focused and unfocused at a nauseating rate. He knew that one more hit would leave him broken and crumpled on the forest floor, food for the large beasts.
He was alone. Completely and utterly alone. He had been told that it was foolish to travel through this forest by himself. He had been told that some of the creatures that lurked in the underbrush could kill him without hardly lifting a finger. He had been told that few who entered had rarely made it out in one piece. Still, he went. Blame it on his desperate need to rid himself of the curse that flowed through his veins. But right now, that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the two large forest trolls that had stumbled across his campsite while he slept. He had no idea how they had managed to get past all of his wards, but he hadn’t really had time to figure that out while he had been fighting for his life.
Sparks danced between the fingers of his right hand, the crackle of electricity fluctuating with every slight movement he made. He could feel the energy building in him, waiting to be called forth and released. Deep blue arcane veins stood out against the skin of his arm, glowing brightly from the magic that was ingrained into his being. He could hear the familiar hum of the power inside him, comforting after so many years of study.
A cocky, arrogant smile crossed his face, eyes glowing to match the veins on his arms. “Usually I’d say some witty one liner…” Lance said, voice slightly shaky. “But you’re too stupid to understand me!”
With a speed amplified by adrenaline, the caster jutted his arm forward, releasing the power that he held inside. Bolts flew from his fingertips, streaking through the air towards the lumbering trolls. Thunder erupted around them, deafening to his ears no matter how many times he had used this spell. The lightning was hitting his targets before he had time to blink, the bright blue arcs slamming into the chests of the trolls, the current spreading throughout their bodies.
Through his blurry vision, he could see the two figures seize up, bodies going rigid as the lightning worked its way up and down their forms. After a few moments, the spell dissipated, leaving the caster even more exhausted than he already was. His dropped to one knee, unable to hold his weight any longer. He shifted his now dulled eyes up, heart dropping into his stomach when he saw the two figures still standing, angry grunts coming from both of them after being hit with lightning.
“Shit…” Lance muttered, voice barely audible to his own ears. He had expected to die during his travels. He went to a lot of dangerous places and tampered with a lot of dangerous things - probably more than he should. So it was only natural that he got what was coming to him. But he didn’t think it would be this soon. He wasn’t ready. He still had so much to do.
He watched helplessly as the trolls raised their clubs, time seeming to slow down around him. He could hear the blood rushing through his head, feel the pulse of his erratic heartbeat crashing against his ribs. He wanted to get up. He wanted to run. But his body refused to comply with his will. He had used too much of his power and it had left him drained, only able to watch as his life was snuffed out.
The world around him was going dark, the blackness on the edges of his vision no longer being held at bay. And as the clubs of the trolls started to make their descent towards him, he found himself being pulled beneath the surface of consciousness, the last thing he saw being a flash of red.
~~~~~
Opening his eyes, Lance was greeted by dark browns and forest greens. A lush canopy lay above him, too thick for sunlight to filter through. Vines hung from the branches above his head, small red flowers sprouting from them in an almost unnatural way. The dark green leaves were larger than his head and seemed to radiate some ethereal glow. Looking closer, Lance could see small bits of twine scattered throughout growth, pulling two branches together, shaping the forest ceiling.
As he was pulled from his unconscious state, he also noticed the softness beneath him. It wasn’t anything like the dirt clumps and tree roots that had been digging into his back the past couple of nights. No, this felt more like an actual bed, even going so far as to having what seemed to be a pillow beneath his head.
He shifted his eyes lethargically around the room he found himself in, the brown and green theme continuing from the ceiling. He was in a small room, that much he was certain of. There wasn’t much too it to be honest - only the bed which he currently lay in and a small nightstand being the only furniture. He could see the nightstand was made out of small branches that were tied together by twine, mirroring the work done to the canopy. It was impressive craftsmanship, Lance could admit.
Atop the nightstand he saw his hat. He could see the small tears and scuffs in the dark blue fabric mostly likely left over from the troll fight. He’d have to fix that later. But beyond that, the wide brim and sagging tip looked just as it always had.
Aside from that the room was empty. He could see a doorway on the far side of the room, a fur curtain blocking whatever lay beyond. Movement could be heard coming from the other side, the occasional footstep accompanied by soft muttering.
Someone was here.
But where was here? And how was he not dead?
That last thing he remembered was the trolls and then the bright light. That was it. By all rights he should be dead. He should be digesting in the stomach of those trolls by now, the rest of the world not knowing what happened to him. But he wasn’t. And while he was grateful for that, he had no idea if he had simply been pulled out of the frying pan to only be thrust into the fire. Whoever owned this place might not be as friendly as he hoped.
Trying to shake the grogginess from his mind, Lance sat up, noticing how he felt no pain. He glanced down at his left arm, expecting to see a broken mess but instead finding that it looked untouched. He raised his arm and moved it around a bit, examining the small freckles and blemishes that littered his skin. They looked as they always did.
Healing magic.
That’s what Lance decided. It was the only logical explanation. His arm should’ve been out of commission of months at best; at worst not usable ever again. But It was fine now. Only a high-level healer could’ve managed something like that.
Regardless, he couldn’t just sit around. He needed to figure out where he was and hope that he hadn’t found himself in a worse situation. The fact that he had been healed helped to calm his mind slightly, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Look what had happened last time he’d done that.
Lance swung his legs over the side of the small bed before standing up. His knees buckled slightly, the exhaustion from pushing his magic too far still present within him. Catching himself on the edge of the bed, Lance managed to remain standing. It was a few moments longer before he felt strong enough to stand on his own, although he still felt like his legs were going to give in at any moment.
He grabbed his hat from the nightstand, situating it neatly on his head. He scanned the small room, looking for any sign of his matching cloak, but didn’t see it hanging from one of the branches that made up the walls of the room. If he had to guess, he’d say that whoever owned this place had put it somewhere else for the time being, a fact that irked him.
Inspecting the rest of his clothes quickly, Lance noticed a few rips in the long, light blue tunic he wore, splotches of red staining the tattered edges. The dark blue sash that hung from his wait was still fixed in place, the hems of the cloth fraying slightly. His pants looked no better, the navy fabric that hugged his legs torn at the knees and muddied. He was surprised to see the white linen wraps that he wound around his shins were still there - if a little dirty themselves. The soft fabric wrapped around feet and up his leg, only stopping once they reached the base of his pants.
Lance decided that he looked like a wreck. But he was alive. He’d much rather be alive and looking like a wreck than dead and looking like tomato paste. Once he had all of his strength back it wouldn’t take him long to mend all of his clothing, but for now he would have to remain looking like he had just barely escaped death...which he had.
Lance turned his attention to the doorway, still hearing the noises coming from the other side. His eyes narrowed as he steeled himself, getting ready for whatever lay on the other side of the curtain - friend or foe. He was grateful for being saved, but that didn’t mean he trusted whatever had saved him. Too often in this world people became caught up in owing their lives to some less-than-righteous entity. He was certainly familiar enough with that.
“Only one way to find out…” Lance muttered to himself as he stepped towards the doorway, heart pounding inside his chest. He swallowed the nervous bile that had risen in his throat as he reached the doorway, extending one hand to pull the curtain aside.
He was greeted by a room that was only slightly larger than the one he had just been in. It took him only a moment to see that the walls and ceiling of the room were also constructed the same as the room he had just come from. There wasn’t much to the room. A small table with one chair sat in the center of the open space, cleared off at the moment. The walls were lined with small shelves which housed an abundance of herbs and other ingredient-like things that Lance didn’t know the names of - he never really cared for alchemy. One corner of the room housed a small fireplace which looked to be made out of rocks that were collected over a period of time, some stained black with soot while others looked practically untouched. There were various items for living spread around the room, a broom in one corner, pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. It was a rustic home, but Lance could see the dedication that had gone into making it.
But what caught the caster’s attention the most was the person standing across the room from him, their back turned and slightly hunched over. He could see a mop of raven-colored hair, the strands looking thick and silky even from this distance. The figure wore a deep brown vest, burgundy sleeves pulled up to their elbows. They were still muttering something to themselves, no longer muffled by the curtain.
“Two of these...and then a bit of that…”
The voice was low and rich, but youthful sounding. If Lance had to guess, he’d say that the man was not much older than himself. Still, what would a young guy like him be doing out here?
“It’s about time ya woke up.” The man said, much louder than his previous mutterings.
Lance’s reaction was instinctual, the flow of arcane energy being called forth without any prior thought. Sparks began to dance across his fingertips, although smaller and fewer than he was used to. The veins on his arms glowed duller than normal, the deep blue barely visible beneath his skin. He could feel the strength being sapped from him again, the magical energies drawing from what little power he had regained.
He saw the man turn towards him angrily, piercing indigo eyes glaring at him from across the room. They weren’t hostile, but rather...concerned - a fact that left Lance hesitating in his release of arcane power.
“I just spent the last three days making sure your stupid powers didn’t consume your lifeforce. Please don’t make my work all for nothing by killing yourself now.” The man continued to glare at him, his tone sharp and slightly irritated.
Surprised by the reaction, Lance dropped the spell, the magic in him receding until there was nothing. The man now facing him, Lance got a good look at his face. His skin was paler than most, dark hair contrasting with the light tone. His eyes were...unnatural, the indigo irises almost otherworldly. His features were sharp, but not so much as to be harsh. There was a softness to them, a kind of comfort to be found in the expressions that crossed his face. A dull red scar ran across his right cheek, reaching from beneath his eye and continuing to just below his ear. He looked human, but not. Something was just a little off, though Lance couldn’t place what.
Noticing that the man was waiting for Lance to speak, he awkwardly cleared his throat before saying. “You did...what?”
“Saved your life.” Came the response, the man crossing his arms over his chest. “Twice.”
“Cool, cool…” Lance said, still trying to get his bearings. “How?”
The man’s expression didn’t change as he spoke. “By getting rid of those trolls you pissed off. For future reference, maybe someone at your uh...skill level shouldn’t be wandering around these woods alone.”
Lance could feel his irritation spark at the insult, a heat growing in the center of his chest. “My skill level?”
The man gave a small shrug. “It’s pretty common knowledge that going beyond your magic’s strength can lead to arcane consumption...ya know, when magic starts drawing from your lifeforce? Even an amateur should know that.” Lance restrained himself from squirming as the man ran his gaze up and down his form. “So what are you? A novice or something?”
Lance’s muscles tightened, his pride far too wounded to respond in any sort of rational manner. “ Excuse you? I’ve been studying for years! Of course I knew that! But in case you missed it, I was about to be killed by trolls! What was I supposed to do?”
The man seemed unphased by Lance’s outburst. “Run. That’s what most people do.”
Lance found his voice catching in his throat, all signs of his anger dissipating in an instant. He instinctively glanced down at his wrapped feet, a familiar pang of guilt and regret hitting him in the chest.
“Let’s just say that running really isn’t an option for me…” Lance muttered quietly, not daring to meet those piercing indigo eyes. “B-But anyways, I should be going. Thanks for making sure I didn’t die...and all that...but I’ve got places to be and a thing to find and to be perfectly honest, I don’t really like you so…yeah.” Lance’s eyes darted around the room as he spoke, not stopping until they landed on his cloak that was hanging on one of the branches jutting out of the wall next to what he assumed was the front door. He started moving towards it without hesitation.
“How far do you think you’ll make it in that state?” The raven-haired man asked.
“No one asked you to worry about me.” Lance shot at him, pulling his cloak from the wall and wrapping it around himself.
The man scoffed. “So should I have just left you to die at the hands of those trolls?”
“Yes!...er no! Maybe!” Lance said, his previous anger returning. Who did this guy think he was acting all high and mighty? He lived in a goddamn forest like some weirdo. No way was he better in any way, shape, or form.
“Noted. Next time I’ll just sit back and watch you get crushed to dust.”
It was Lance’s turn to scoff. “Yeah, like there’ll be a next time. I’m never coming back here.” He reached out to grab the handle of the wooden door, wanting nothing more than to get away from his supposed savior.
“I somehow seriously doubt that.” The man said, an almost cocky tone to his voice. “If you’re looking for what I think you’re looking for, you’ll be back here in a couple of days...if you survive that long.”
Lance froze, eyes going wide. Without looking over his shoulder he asked in a low voice, “What do you mean?”
There was a small chuckle from behind him. “Exactly what I said.”
Lance turned back to the raven-haired man. “Who the hell are you?”
Lance watched as the man uncrossed his arms, indigo eyes almost hesitant, as if he was debating something. After a few moments, he spoke, “Keith.”
Lance gave him a flat look. “Keith...what?”
Keith gave a small shrug. “Just Keith.”
Lance let out a slightly irritated sight, “Okay, then ‘just Keith’. You think you know what I’m searching for?”
Keith let out another chuckle, moving to the small table in the room and sitting down. He propped his feet on the table, the front two legs of the chair lifting off the ground as he leaned back. It was a pose that spoke volumes. He clearly knew more than Lance did and he was making sure Lance knew it.
That pissed Lance off.
“Everyone who comes this deep into the forest is looking for the same thing. It’s really the only worthwhile thing out here. So why wouldn’t you be searching for it as well?” Keith’s voice was knowing, but careful. Despite his demeanor, Lance could tell that he was choosing his words carefully.
“And you know where it is?” Lance asked, not moving from his position near the door.
“You could say that.” Keith replied.
“And you’ll tell me where it is?”
“Maybe...if you tell me something in return.”
“Like what?” Lance asked suspiciously.
“Like why you want it.” Keith answered casually.
Lance was silent for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He didn’t know this guy. By all accounts he was just some weirdo in the forest who might not know anything. Why was he living out here anyway? There were trolls and other woodland beasts lurking around.
But he had saved Lance after all, practically nursed him back to health without even knowing who he was. And despite everything, that wasn’t nothing. Somewhere deep down Lance was grateful for that, but that didn’t mean he trusted the guy.
He really wanted to find that weapon though. He couldn’t return until he did. What if this was his only chance? What if Keith was the key? How could he just pass up that opportunity? He could just lie, but if Keith had the capabilities to heal him back to normal in just a few days, he was probably powerful enough to cast a simple detect lies spell. It might be too risky.
“So?” Keith asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.
Lance let out a resigned sigh, reaching up and adjusting his hat a little. “It’s probably not what you think.” He started, blue eyes locking with indigo. “I don’t want to use it...or for revenge...or anything like that. I don’t even want it to prove myself in some weird soul-searching quest.”
A flash of surprise crossed Keith’s face before it turned to curiosity. “Why then?”
Lance hesitated, a certain ache sprouting in his chest. “To fix these.” He said softly, nodding down towards his wrapped shins and feet. “I…messed up. Got caught up in something I shouldn’t have and…”
Keith remained silent, face unreadable as he listened to Lance.
“Long story short, I got cursed. It’s a life-weakening one. Makes the muscles weak, the bones fragile. Most people with this curse don’t live very long, but I got lucky. I found someone who was able to contain it, keep it just in my legs.” Lance stopped, tearing his eyes away from Keith’s. It wasn’t often he shared this story and it felt...wrong to be talking so freely with a guy he had just met. But also, right in some weird, backwards way.
“And this weapon will help how?” Keith asked, his voice softer than before.
“I went back to the being who cursed me and asked for a deal. If I did something for it, it would remove the curse. They sent me to retrieve the weapon that’s somewhere in this forest. So...here I am.”
“A weapon like that in the hands of a being powerful enough to curse you could be a very dangerous thing.” Keith said almost matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that. I’m not really sure if I’m going to deliver the weapon to it. I would hate for the rest of the world to suffer just so I could walk a little further each day, ya know? That’d be pretty shitty of me…” Lance let out an awkward breathy laugh, not wanting Keith to see how indecisive he felt. It had certainly been a problem that had kept him up most nights. “I’ve debated just turning around and giving up on this stupid errand more times than I can count, leave the weapon where it’s at.”
Keith pulled his feet off the desk, the legs of his chair landing on the dirt floor with a small thud. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table in front of him, hands clasped. His eyes ran mysteriously over Lance, sending shivers up the caster’s spine. It was like the raven-haired man could see right through him, discovering things that Lance didn’t even know himself.
After a few moments, Keith stood up, a firm but understanding look on his face. “How about a third option?” He asked, voice much more serious than the arrogance that it had held moments before.
“Third option?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow towards him.
“Yeah,” Keith said with a nod. “An option that doesn’t involve handing over the weapon to some dangerous being.”
“And what would that option be?” The caster asked, slight disbelief to his tone. He had spent weeks thinking about this very problem. If there was a third option, he surely would’ve thought of it by now.
Keith approached him slowly, indigo eyes shining just a little more than they were before. “If I give this weapon to you, you have to protect it. You can’t let anyone else have it. Only you. And in return, it’ll help and protect you.”
Lance didn’t speak as Keith drew closer, his chest swelling slightly at Keith’s words. The uneasiness that had been ever-present in the back of his head upon meeting the strange raven-haired man had suddenly vanished, an almost ethereal feeling washing over him.
“It can’t fix your legs, but it can help you, support you. But only if you promise to not let it leave your hands.” Keith said as he stopped right in front of Lance.
Lance swallowed hard, attempting to clear his dry throat before saying, “I promise.”
Another knowing smirk crossed Keith’s face. “Well then, give me your hand, Lance.”
Lance’s eyes blinked in confusion for a moment. “You know my name? How?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been waiting a long time for you. Hand?” Keith held out his own, waiting.
Lance only hesitated a moment longer before reaching up and placing his hand in Keith’s, the skin of the raven-haired man smooth against his own.
“Don’t drop me.” Keith said.
“Wait what-” Lance’s question was caught short by a sudden flash of bright light, causing the caster to have to shield his eyes with his free hand. It was over in an instant though, the light of the small home returning to normal.
Keith no longer stood in front of him and a quick glance around the room showed that he was nowhere in sight. In his place instead, clutched in Lance’s hands, was a quarterstaff. Lance stared at it in awe, marveling at the rich black color held by the wood. It was unscarred save for a streak of red that ran down from the top of the staff and ended a little less than halfway down. The staff had no head save for two feathers tied to the top of it, both a deep indigo color. It was beautiful, Lance could admit, but it was also so much more. He could feel the arcane energy radiating out from it, sending small shockwaves through his fingertips and up his arm. It was far more powerful than anything else he’s ever held.
“I…” Lance stuttered, not really talking to anyone. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the staff, transfixed by the sheer power and elegance of it.
“It’s really not nice to stare.”
Lance jumped at the sudden voice in his head, almost dropping the staff in the process. “What the hell?!”
“Hey, careful! I told you not to drop me.”
“Keith…?” Lance asked, staring at the staff again, realization hitting him. “Is that…? Are you…?”
“Congrats, Lance. You’re now the owner of Kei’rethem. Keep me safe.”