Chapter 1-3: Evanel

Two hours’ distance away from the gray walls of the Outer Ring in a sweltering desert, Evanel felt that the night breeze truly did not do much to cool down the midsummer heat. Despite the empty surroundings and open air, where he should have seen unending stretches of red sand and glittering stars embedded against the darkness, all he saw was heavy fog, circling and embracing a lone, decorated caravan standing motionlessly still.

Humans avoided the fog like a plague. Of course, it was barely more than a myth to those fortunate enough to be residing in the Capital - they were safely protected by the Old Ruins buried beneath. But the people of the Outer Ring locked their doors and windows tightly each night, before the mysterious Sun-eating phenomena of the fog rolled in and swallowed the people wandering lost inside it whole. The fog did as it pleased. When the sun set, it swept in from beyond the borders of the Outer Ring, its fingers clawing through the cracks of the ever-weakening borders of protection to search for those unfortunately stuck outside or brave enough to confront it head-on, lingering on individuals that it considered tasty.

But the gypsies and nomads, the fog-travelers aren’t human.

Evanel made his way to the caravan, his stomach churning. It had been a while since he, himself, had last braved the fog. As a Beast, it wasn’t that he was afraid of being eaten up, no, it was because he had been afraid of the other Beasts that lingered inside; but it was already nearing four decades since he had felt the source of his powers flicker out of existence, since he had felt the warmth of Arhilliana’s life fade. If he continued to be afraid of Beasts, perhaps he would perish without ever finding the truth behind her disappearance.

With a clenched jaw, he climbed into the caravan, knocking politely against the door frame as he did so. A thick scent of a strong incense rudely intruded Evanel’s nose, exploring through his limbs. He felt his face immediately scrunch up in automatic rejection to the smell, his hairs rising on end and his hand gripping onto the sword resting at his hip.

I haven’t misjudged the place, he thought with an awkward mixture of nerves and satisfaction, a ragged breath finally escaping his lips in a quiet, relieved sigh.

The inside of the caravan sported simple furnishings, consisting only of a wooden table clothed in dark fabric, and a single, plush seat. Wooden torches hung from the paint-washed walls, dimly lighting the small space.

As he breathed back out the intrusive scent, expelling its invasive tendrils out his nostrils, the entry curtain flapped open behind him with an arrogant flair and blatant disrespect for the caravan’s inhabitants.

A peerlessly beautiful woman of a slender and fluid stature stepped in, accompanied by the chill night air and thin tendrils of fog from the outside. Belted at her hips were a pair of dual hunting knives and a coiled, black whip, and she was dressed in good quality leathers and a white shirt almost too sheer to be proper in regular company. Her long, black locks were delicately arranged on the side of her crown, loosely framing her pale face, and a single lock escaped the jewelled pins to prettily fall around her throat and chest. She was beautiful enough to be a dangerous Beast, but… He looked at her with a slight frown, and she stared back at him unyieldingly - her icy gaze was cold and haunting, unreadable. Seemingly unaffected by the overpowering scent of the incense, she looked him up and down, her long lashes flitting against her colourless cheeks. Holding up a recruitment poster in her hand, she asked: “Have you come because of this?”

Her voice was low, hypnotizing; a silky croon that sent a sudden and unreasonable chill down his spine. He was confused at her easy entry despite her apparent race, but her scrutiny nevertheless made him pull himself up a little taller and broader. A human woman brave enough to traverse through the fog was no ordinary person.

“I have,” he answered, carefully eyeing her, “but the Ringmaster hasn’t arrived yet.” He paused, hesitant to speak up, but she really was very beautiful, and her gear was well-worn. It would be a pity if a competent performer offended someone here by mistake and died without even knowing how. No matter how attractive and impeccably dressed, her scent - or therelackof - didn’t belong to this caravan. “If you also came because of the recruitment poster, you should leave now. There will be many other troupes willing to take you, but this place isn’t- hey!”

His gaze darted left and right in panic as the woman nonchalantly dropped herself into the velvet-cushioned seat, elegantly lifting her booted feet onto the table and almost knocking over the crystal ball. Did the woman even realise where she was, whose caravan she was in? He bit his lip in annoyance, chastising himself. How could she know? She was simply another average human, and seemingly an ill-mannered one at that.

Evanel tried again, for her sake. She was no match for the people here. “Look, Miss, since you have come here to apply, I think you should be more respectful to the Ringmaster and his property, audition, then find yourself a different troupe.”

Without taking note of the now-dirtied tablecloth, the woman lifted a long, delicate pipe to her red lips, lighting it. At the first exhale, the light, intoxicating smell of the smoke immediately dispersed the thick incense, diffusing the oppressive scent and killing its pheromonal power. She took her time puffing the pipe, her lip curling lazily as she arched her brows at him. “Find myself a different troupe? Why would I do that?”

Evanel sighed inwardly, holding back his irritation. He didn’t like getting involved with her kind. He had spoken for her own safety, as he knew how fragile humans were. Getting angry now at her lack of politeness would be below him. “Miss, this troupe really is not for you. You don’t realise what kind of people you are dealing with-”

He felt the words die in his throat as the entrance flapped open again, filling the small space with an oppressive, immeasurable presence behind him. A well-rounded, dignified man stepped into the caravan in a leisurely fashion, his dark eyes glittering in the low lighting. Although no emotions played on his aged, handsome face, Evanel could see the fury in the thin set of the man’s lips as the latter stared the woman down.

The woman didn’t react to the newcomer, not so much as even glancing up. She simply continued polluting the man’s presence with her smoke, unabashedly insulting and dismissing the older man’s sickly-sweet incense.

Evanel shut up and stepped out of the line of his intense stare. If this human wanted to kill herself early, he didn’t want to be associated with her by this powerful man.

For a long, suffocating moment, the man stared at the unfazed woman with deep, barely-concealed displeasure.

Slowly, lazily, the woman glanced up at the man with a sleek, cold smile. “What is it, Ringmaster? You do look quite bothered.”

The Ringmaster grunted in visible discomfort and annoyance. When he spoke, his words were gruff and with a noticeable bite. “I’d very much appreciate it if you took your boots off my table, Lady d’Lucianna, and respected my scent in my space.”

Evanel swallowed his surprise - the woman had no scent, no pheromones, but here she sat with her pipe in her hands, her smoke diluting the Ringmaster’s presence with no fear of repercussions; and the Ringmaster could not chastise her.

d’Lucianna delicately took another puff and let it out gently - almost mockingly - in the Ringmaster’s direction. Her voice was a melodic croon as she used her long pipe to point at Evanel, squeezing his heart in his chest. “Is this the promising new recruit you were so looking forward to, Ringmaster Allenr?”

The Ringmaster narrowed his eyes and glared, but didn’t say anything, turning his gaze reluctantly to Evanel.

Swallowing down his confusion with difficulty, Evanel quickly lowered himself down onto his knees. “I apologise for not recognising your scent and offending you, ma’am. I’m not usually so unobservant... I don’t know how I made such a mistake. I promise you I will be of use to you both and Cirque d’Lunae if you let me into the troupe, sir, ma’am.”

Lady d’Lucianna, had the Ringmaster said? Evanel gritted his teeth. How was he supposed to differentiate between her and a normal human, when he sensed no scent from her whatsoever?

But he waited for their judgment, because he had sacrificed too much to finally arrive here. Cirque d’Lunae was the only well-known, influential Magicians’ troupe that was considered untouchable by House d’Lusivere and their tyrannic Magician Law. If he was unable to join d’Lunae today, what hopes did he have of fulfilling his promises? Admittance into d’Lunae was his best and possibly only chance at survival. Offending a figure such as this Lady d’Lucianna, whom even the Ringmaster had to give face to, was not within his original calculations.

The Ringmaster smiled at him in a slimey manner. “Evanel, I have been waiting for you a while. There is no need to be so nervous, you are a very promising individual with unique talents. I find you invaluable.”

The thin, silver pipe hit the table, and Evanel flinched, not daring to rise or to respond to the Ringmaster’s words.

“The members of Cirque d’Lunae,” d’Lucianna enunciated carefully, rolling her words over her tongue, “do not kneel so easily, regardless of power or social status.” Each cold letter fell like a powerful weight in the air. “Since you have decided to join us, it would be best to remember this and treat yourself with some self-respect.”

She had no aura nor scent, but her low, hypnotising voice and the heavy, dominating weight of her stare made him feel as if he was resisting the currents of an ocean as he stood up shakily. It took a surprising amount of self-control to lock his knees, forcing himself to stand upright.

He grit his teeth and bowed slightly to her. “Yes, ma’am.”

A short moment of silence passed, then another. When he hesitantly looked up to meet her gaze, he instantly regretted it - the force of her whole, undivided attention violently slapped the air out of his lungs, and his legs braced, hard, to keep his body vertical. He returned his gaze to the ground too quickly to salvage his pride, Ringmaster Allenr already pushed to the back of his mind. Surely, such a powerful woman wouldn’t be so easily insulted, yet… Nerves and slight irritation pricked at him. Why does she stare at me so?

The pressure slowly subsided, and the tension seeped out from his limbs, leaving him feeling slightly limp and bruised.

d’Lucianna tilted her head to the side. “Evanel, was it? What is your name?”

His mouth tasted dry, but he nevertheless responded: “d’Sanctiae, ma’am, it’s Evanel d’Sanctiae.”

The Ringmaster seemed as if he intended to say something, but closed his mouth with a visible look of anger as d’Lucianna put her feet down and rose from her seat. “From Coven d’Sanctiae, I assumed as much.” She glanced thoughtfully at Allenr, her lip curling. “Pity, they were eradicated by House d’Lusivere for defying the Law and almost exposing Magicians to the human world.”

Evanel stared at d’Lucianna in surprise, his trepidation forgotten. “Do you know my mother’s coven?”

d’Lucianna’s gaze levelled at him, filled with an unreadable emotion. If he didn’t know any better, he might have even called it wistful. “I met some of them, a few decades ago, in the d’Lusivere Dungeons.”

His breath caught in his throat, but before he could ask anything more, she simply turned back to the Ringmaster.

“You have really thought this out, Ringmaster. You’ve chosen a Magician of a prominent lineage with an obviously deep-set grudge against House d’Lusivere to be your person.” Her voice was sardonic, filtered with a thinly-veiled taunt. “You clearly don’t need my input - not that I think you want it. Do what you will, and have Raan report it to me.”

With a look of contempt, d’Lucianna fluttered out the door and into the dawning morning.

Evanel stared at the door for a long moment after her departure, now completely still in the silence of d’Lucianna’s wake. When he forcefully tore his eyes away from the exit, cautiously looking back to the silent Ringmaster, the man was positively fuming, his eyes lit up in what seemed like humiliation against the dark.

Evanel swallowed a lump in his throat that didn’t disappear. This was not the time to be in this powerful man’s presence.

It took a moment before the buzzing, oppressive tension in the air subsided a barely noticeable layer. Ringmaster Allenr took the seat which d'Lucianna had just occupied, his glowering stare fixing Evanel in place where he stood.

“I have high hopes for you, d’Sanctiae. I am aware that you have been searching for us, and I too, have been looking for a man just like you.”

Just like me, sir? These words made their way to Evanel’s tongue, but he quickly swallowed them back down. The conditions that d'Lucianna had spat out about him echoed in the depths of his heart uncomfortably.

Instead, he carefully said: “Yes, sir. I will not beat around the bush with you. I am hiding from House d’Lusivere, after what happened with my mother’s coven. I heard that Cirque d’Lunae is made up of rogues who can safely defy them under the Cirque’s protection.”

A slippery, condescending smile slid over the older man’s thin lips, stretching them and revealing pointed incisors. “Of course, we will protect you - no. If you meet my expectations, I will protect you. You have much potential, and I want to raise you myself. Under me, you will have nothing to fear from powers like the d’Lusiveres.”

Something about his words made Evanel feel cold, a tight knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Carefully schooling his expression, he bowed to the Ringmaster. “I’m honoured for your favour, sir.”

The Ringmaster slowly grinned, waving his bow away with a heavily-ringed hand. “That’s enough, you must be tired after coming here. You may leave. We will speak more in the future about how I will help you greatly - and how you may return the favour.”

Evanel bowed again stiffly and turned, brushing out the door a tad too quickly to be considered polite. He gasped in the chill night air, happy to be away from that man and his space. There was something slippery, something sneaky about the way he struck his bargains… Evanel didn’t have a good feeling about it.

Belatedly sensing a presence by his side, he flinched, looking up. A youthful, pretty boy stared up at him with a curious, friendly smile. He had yellow-blonde curls piled in a heap on top of his head and framing his face, and wide, black eyes under his long, golden lashes. The sweater he had on was a size too big for him, and his delicate legs were clad in boys’ shorts and long socks.

“Hi,” he greeted with an enticingly innocent smile, holding his sleeved hands together in a shy manner. “I’m Dollface, a silk dancer. I’ll be your roommate from now on.”

Evanel eyed him warily. He refused to believe that this innocent, cherubic face and frame belonged to a young boy. He nodded at him slightly, respectfully. “It’s nice to meet you, Master Dollface. I’m Evanel, and I’m a sword dancer. I’ll be in your care.”

Doll giggled. “Master Dollface? There’s really no need. Call me Doll.” Reaching up, Doll smiled sweetly at Evanel, taking the fabric of his sleeve in his own small hand and leading him into the thick mist. “Here. Let me guide you around.”

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