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There's a faint clatter as the bottle is lowered into the basin. Believe it or not, elixirs tend to grow all sorts of undesirables inside your glasses if left alone for long enough. Many people forget that magic is no stranger to the cycle of rot.
Unfortunately for Abel and the no small number of dishes sitting on the countertop, living in the arctic does not exempt you from cleaning up after yourself either. He starts cleaning things out dutifully - the sound of splashing water and the clinking of glass filling the otherwise empty air of the kitchen he’s in. He isn’t exactly on wash duty today, but it helps to make his mind wander in places that doesn’t involve reflecting on what he’s lacking.
A line can be drawn clear as day between a ruse and a rumour, and it lies in what little truth the latter contains. The Spellsword lives in a relatively small community - all things considered - so trying not to hear in on the lives of other people tends to be difficult.
Children, especially, as he finds.
“Mom, mom! Hey!” Full to bursting with life and energy, it’s hard not to notice their voices. He remembers glancing over towards the sound, then smiling. The present him doesn’t do the same. “Mister Balstus was saying he’s going on a hunting trip next week! Can I come?”
“Oh, Virrie….” Said mother’s voice has an unsure wobble to it. “It’s going to be dangerous, isn’t it? I’m sure you’re a brave little boy, but there’s so much you’d need to learn before they’d let you!” A small chuckle. “Wouldn’t you get bored?”
Her voice has a soft lilt to it. A parent’s unmistakable tone, loving and awkward and strange. Foreign, to him and perhaps only to him.
Back in the present, he puts down the final glass and stares towards an empty doorway. The sounds of distant chatter and clashing metal hang low in the halls, guardsmen and hunters alike settling in for the evening. Abel finds himself letting out a small laugh. He gets so carried away sometimes - catching himself doing nothing but staring out at the snowfields too many times for it to not be embarrassing. Often enough for people to take notice.
…Would he have been admonished for doing so? Gently scolded? Had it made into a light joke between people sitting at a dinner table? He doesn’t know, the thought dawning on him, before rapidly realising he may or may not be staring into the middle distance alone in an empty kitchen.
Back to the barracks, then.
He passes a few people on his way back. It isn’t surprising - he has arrived a fair bit late into the night, but there’s enough hands on deck that he doesn’t have to be too worried about scheduling. Besides, he’s shown himself dedicated and capable enough to keep the higher-ups from worrying about his hours. He should be alright to-- oh, someone's coming up to him.
“Another night coming in late, huh?” A hunter - Nirou, he remembers - scoffs, though it’s void of malice. “Maybe we ought to start taking bets for what you were spending time doing. Enough of a pattern to get ourselves a nice, clean list.”
She smirks, and though a part of him tilts its head at her attitude, there’s no denying she does good work. And hey, it’s good for morale! A bit of lightheartedness doesn’t hurt.
“You think so?” A quirked brow. “I just spend a bit of extra time training, running errands…The works. There can’t be that long of a list.” If he had pockets, he’d probably be shoving his hands in them. Abel settles for placing a hand on his hip instead. “And I reckon you and Mira have a lot more bets running anyway. Can’t be adding another to the pile, or Lute is gonna get suspicious.”
The hunter’s lax pose tells him she isn’t really listening, but he wasn’t really serious to begin with. “Woooow, you’re even telling me off this time? Sheesh.” A mock roll of the eyes, but the gaze remains averted long enough for Abel to notice.
“...Something wrong?”
“Nah, just…” She rolls her shoulders. “I mean - even for you, you’ve been spending more time out. I know you hate feeling holed up and not doing anything but, ah….” She trails off, before bringing her hands out in a sort of all-encompassing gesture. “It’s- like- really damn late. And before you ask, I’m up because I need to get some water.”
“...So you’re sneaking into Nero’s room to gossip again.”
“That too.”
Despite himself, Abel lets out a chuckle.
“I can’t imagine you have much to talk about, honestly.”
“That’s because you don’t pay much attention to other people.”
“Wh-- I'm just doing my job!”
“By staring out into the distance half the time?”
“That’s what a guard on the wall does!”
She stares at him for a moment before eventually dropping her head to sigh.
“Fine, fine. You win.” She’s still smiling even as she speaks. “But at least tell me what you were doing before coming back to base.”
Abel opens his mouth to speak and
It’s white. White. Nothing but pure white streaking past his eyelids as he stands on the wall. Only pockmarked signs of green and grey sticking out of the snow-bleached landscape. Pure nothingness, barrenness in absolution. Yet he finds himself getting lost in the sight anyways.
Some part of him knows he isn’t feeling as cold as he should be.
“--No thanks. I’d rather not give you gossip material.”
Nirou raises her eyebrows at him, eyes half-lidded.
“Hey, don’t give me that look!”
She continues to give said look.
“Nirou–”
“Fine.” He’s almost taken aback by the sudden drop in her tone, but she waves her hand soon after. “Just…”
It feels like they hold eye contact for a long, long time.
“Forget it. Night.”
“Have fun with the gossip.”
Nirou doesn’t answer after him, footsteps echoing on the stone only by the time he’s reached the end of the hall.
The door shuts behind him, and the bunks remain still in the hush of night. He does his best to remain quiet as he trots over to his bed and gets out of his gear. The cold air on his skin as he changes does little more than nip tiredly at his flesh.
There’s a slight creak as he settles into bed, and he winces.
They’re all gathered, milling about in the main hall while the day winds down. Night guards pass them at varying speeds - some rushing to get accustomed to the chill air before they get too comfortable while others procrastinate on the same. Abel sits on the side, reading a book on foreign folklore.
“What’re you writing?” Despite his concentration, it’s easy to overhear the others in the room.
“Letters for the rest of the family back in Greenguard.” A pause, and he catches movement out of the corner of his eye as someone moves to sit down. “They’re having some trouble adjusting to all the monsters there, so I’m planning on sending back some stuff from home.”
It's all of a sudden that the sheets feel too warm - not even draped over his body but a piercing, foreign heat seeping into him all the same. A deep-seated uncanniness right down to his bones.
Blank eyes staring out towards an empty canvas of a landscape. A horizon line splitting the tones in two as the sole proof he exists on Lore at all. A cloak around him - unknowing who or what it came from - clawing at the air to gain purchase from the harsh wind.
Specks in the distance. Worried voices.
A set of hands leading him towards stone against the sky.
And then warmth.
...
...He rolls over as if it’ll roll the memory up and out of his brain.