There were plenty of light sources in the areas of the Guild Hall that were frequented even at this hour. The Comrcial, Residential, Production and Industrial Districts, all had the infrastructure to allow continuous illumination. The Light and Fire Islands were steadily lit by their nature. Most of these places were in the east of the Guild Hall. In the west, only the Military District was lit and that was, for one reason or another, scarce.
Of the two large natural areas of the Guild Hall, as natural as sothing designed by human hand could be, the Park was the more friendly. Made for rejuvenating strolls, it was where most couples stuck to. Lanterns showed the common path, air elentals provided a whimsical atmosphere, and the tall peaks around offered a few secluded areas.
John and Nightingale found themselves in Newman Shire. Adjacent to both the Shadow Island and the Midnight Forest, this part of the Guild Hall seed even darker than its distance to most light sources would have let believe. It resembled, in many ways, a proper forest, with its ups and downs, clearings, and lacklustre number of defined paths. Unnatural were the little mountains that appeared here and there, brown rock that towered high above the canopies. It added charm, however. At least John thought so.
It was a new moon. A regular human would have needed to walk slowly and try hard to make sure they even saw the fallen twigs on the road before them. To Nightingale, this darkness likely was easier to pierce than a bright sumr day. As for John, the Blessing she had bestowed on him let him advance without worry. The world was less colourful than usual, but contrasts were still apparent.
The chance of running into anyone was practically non-existent. Avoiding people had not been the goal of going there. John had a whole private island they could have gone to if that had been what was desired. No, John was simply showing her around her new residence and it had subconsciously drawn them to where it was darkest.
“So, how did you study ‘justice’?” John asked. Since leaving the Palace, there had been a steady stream of landmarks to point to and boast about. Now, surrounded by nothing but trees, he looped back to the topic. “It’s a pretty nebulous idea.”
“Nebulous I disagree with, I prefer emotional,” Nightingale responded. “You know you deem sothing is just when you behold it. It is like happiness and sadness, coming from within.”
“And that differentiates it from lawful, which is sothing that cos from the outside,” John continued the line of thought. “I’ve given this so consideration in my own ti. Basing justice in emotion is a poor way to conduct state law, though. There are too many emotions at play.”
“Yet you do it.” Nightingale gazed up to the night sky. Little stars made it through the light the surrounding Hudson Barrier and nearby districts sent into the air. “I studied justice by considering who decides, who enacts, and who represents the law. From the tales of King Arthur to the modern judiciary, certain ideas prevail. You claim emotions are a poor basis for laws in a country, yet you rely on judges and jurors. The judge may be bound to a code and the jurors encouraged to follow one. All of that exists to facilitate the process. In the end, a man who murders his wife’s killer will be judged less than the killer themselves.”
John nodded. “You are right in that sense. One could say that the law only exists to fra the conversation of what a just punishnt is.”
“It ought to be,” Nightingale stated. “A code of law that aims to be objective will inevitably fail. There is no book that could contain all the situations, no mind that could comprehend it all, no will that could pick and choose when to apply them. Justice is when a perpetrator is evaluated by his peers, in a fair manner, to a punishnt the judge witnesses.”
“Fairness over universality,” John summarized her statent. She nodded. They walked along in silence for a little bit. There was little more to say on the topic, since they fundantally agreed on it. “Let’s go over there,” John said when he noticed an amber glow in the otherwise pitch-black forest.
Locating its source was easily done and soon they stood around a massive flower. It was shaped like a peace lily, but its orange red, glowing petals stretched half a tre across and the obsidian stilt reached to John’s hips. “What is this flower?” Nightingale asked.
“An Ember Lily,” John responded and knelt down. “Ever since Nathalia beca the first Patron Goddess of Fusion, the likelihood of fire-related items spawning has increased. A bit botherso that so of them do so outside of the Production Buildings.” Breaking the volcanic glass close to the dirt, John watched what was left behind crumple to dust. The Ember Lily continued to glow, exuding a sweet sll. “They can be dangerous if handled carelessly,” he explained, “sort of like a thistle that burns you.”
“Are these flowers treated as a weed?” she asked.
“If you were paid 5000 USD each ti you found a common thistle, I think most states around the world would be bankrupt by now. Either that, or thistles would be extinct.” John let Nightingale inspect the flower for a few more seconds, then he put it into the Guild Bank inventory, to join the rest of the national stockpile. “We haven’t found a unique use for them yet, but they do provide fire essence, so that is worth it.”
“Would my patronage of your organization yield similar results?” Nightingale wondered.
“It should, yes.” He gestured westwards and they kept moving. “My ga chanics interact in many interesting ways with reality.” They hit the simple dirt road, forcing John to make a decision. “How is your relationship with fairies?” he asked.
“Poor,” she answered in a casual tone. “Last I conversed with fairies, maggots crawled from my wings. I was not amused.”
John shuddered. “I can imagine.”
“Can you?” Nightingale asked.
“Oh yeah. Are you aware of what this is?” John pulled up his right sleeve. Black, tattoo-like marks covered the up and downside of his lower arm, like shadows of his bones seeping through the skin. Nightingale shook her head. “It’s a remnant of a Lorylim infestation on an elental. If the corruption fails to take over, the spores stay inside the system, leaving a red scar. Once those spores have been exhausted as well, it turns black.” With one tug, he hid the arm again. “Being infested remarkably feels like having worms or maggots crawl over your bones. It is beyond disgusting.”
“I was aware you fought the Lorylim, not that you suffered an infestation yourself.”
“Huh, it was pretty big news at the ti I let it leak. Interesting what we can miss.” They continued northwards.
“You say that type of scar is left on an elental. Is that a part of your powers I do not know about?”
“Apparently Gar’s Body makes elental-esque,” he explained to her. “Essentially, my entire being is made up of mana circuits. Effects on them being hurt are therefore the sa. Jane has similar marks on her right arm, although hers are from Lorylim being sort of involved in her quarter-fusing with Copernicus.”
“I thought it only an intricate tattoo.” Nightingale put a wing in front of him, forcing him to stop. She then circled around him. “Take your shirt off. I wish to hear the stories behind each scar.”
‘Not my favourite reason to get naked,’ the Gar thought jokingly and tapped the necessary button. “Let’s continue with this one.” John raised his left arm again. “To put a long story short, Undine got herself infested with Lorylim due to communication issues in our relationship and Salamander decided she had to recreate the process to prove a point. The latter led to being infested. We cleared that, for the most part, by burning the arm to the bone. Left behind was a red scar.”
“You burned your arm to the bone?” Nightingale asked, her voice reflecting horror.
“We were considering cutting it off, but I still don’t know if Gar’s Body can outright replace limbs. I don’t plan to run that experint.” He tapped the left side of his neck. “This was left by Thana. I tricked her into fighting soone for , and when she found out, she bit before Eliza could take full control. The curse initially prevented the wound from healing at all. Eliza diminished that enough that it closed as a scar. I think so part of Thana will never forgive for that one, so I have to carry this with .”
“One should not trifle with the incarnation of genocide.” Nightingale observed and closely inspected the teeth mark. “It is aesthetic in its detail.”
“Well, I’ve lucked out in that I only have one truly ugly scar,” John responded and took one of his contact lenses out. It was the first ti Nightingale saw the milky brown of what remained of his original irises. “The reason why I even tricked Thana to fight for . Sigmund, who burned my eyes with Hellfire.”
“That story did reach at the ti, albeit I thought not much of it,” Nightingale confessed. “You were an interesting tale on the other side of the globe, at the ti.”
“How much a year can change.” John placed the lens back in his eye. A couple of tis, he blinked, to remove a little particle that was stuck on the surface of his replacent ocular. “I needed to relearn seeing. That took over a month.”
“A year… so short and yet so long…”
“Especially when you spend a lot of it in ti dilation.” John rolled his neck. “I turn 20 in three months. Physically, I am probably closer to 21. Well, I’m sothing physically, given what my Stats did to my appearance and brain functions.”
“I turn 31 next month,” Nightingale revealed.
John was in the process of turning his back to her when he heard that. “Really?” he asked, stopping halfway in the motion.
“Fourth of May.”
“Interesting,” he said in a lodic tone. That gave him an ‘optimal’ date on which to finalize his courting effort. Nightingale hid her little smile behind her wing and blinked intriguingly; she knew what John was thinking. Continuing on with the main activity, he turned his back to her, revealing the six marks, shaped like elongated triangles, that the final hit by Arkeidos had left. “I think you know where those co from.”
Nightingale put her wings around him. The unexpected hug made John smile. Her forehead rested between the upper pair of the marks, located on his shoulder. “Those you have because of .”
“I have them because I wanted to save Claire,” he denied. “They were the price I had to pay to get what I wanted. Completely acceptable, as far as I am concerned.”
“Your body tells a story.” John’s chuckling caused the harpy to make a questioning sound. “tra likes to say the sa. She insists that scars are a mark of pride.”
“I see the appeal.” Nightingale brushed over his back with her feathers. “It does imbue you with a certain charm. Danger.”
“Won do like a man with threat capacity,” John put it in blunt terms. “Well, the kind of won I’m interested in do.”
“Who would want a weak partner?” Nightingale asked.
“The kind of person who likes to control the entire relationship,” John responded and took a step forward. Pleasant as her touch was, he wanted to see her. “Personally, I can understand the want to dominate soone else entirely. It’s just a lot more satisfying to have partners with the strength of character required to willingly surrender to my desires. To live with surrendered won feels… empty.”
“Don’t expect to surrender in all regards, my suitor,” Nightingale warned.
“I wouldn’t dream to.” He gestured towards the road and they followed it further. “You’re you and I am . Love is about concessions, not surrender. I was just referring to sex.” He gave her a quick wink. “In everyday life, I love my harem in a large mixture of ways. They wouldn’t all be so delightfully different if I was only attracted to one kind of partner.”
Nightingale only humd in acknowledgent. A long curve sent the path bending right, bringing them to the last quarter of their loop. In the distance, the few lights of the Farm were visible, peeking over the trees that stood by the andering dirt road. “What do you think of butterflies?” Nightingale asked.
A random question, but with no other conversation happening, it was as good as any. “No particularly hard opinion. I find them interesting to look at in general. I like the ones Gno has. I don’t like the ones I saw earlier today.” Just ntioning that created a tinnitus like whistling in his ears.
“What did you see earlier today.”
“Pariah stuff. Please, don’t make think about it,” John requested, feeling pressure built behind his eyes. “What about moths?” Nightingale’s feathers suddenly puffed up. “Bad experiences?”
“Pantry moths,” she hissed.
“…You’ll need to give more context on that one. I never had to deal with those.”
“They invade your pantry and replicate rapidly, infesting all foodstuff with larvae and eggs. Resilient, nurous, and near impossible to get rid of.” Every step the night goddess took was accompanied by the rattling of chains. “Dood be the one who introduced them to Vienna. I wish their family destined death and a quiet grave.”
“They probably just had so eggs on an egg carton they brought in or sothing.”
“If ever there is a justification to tyrannize Abyssals with extensive searches, pantry moths will be it,” she glared over to him. “Prepare yourself, they erge in every long-standing barrier. It is a matter of weeks.”
“Maybe I should introduce nightingales into the Hudson Barrier,” John suggested jokingly. Although renowned for their songs above all else, the nasake of the harpy was also a mber of an order of birds called Old World Flycatchers. There were New World Flycatchers, too, but those wouldn’t have allowed him to make the joke.
“What is effective, I approve,” Nightingale decided.
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