Nero nodded, processing Lyon’s words.
Half a day to recover. Then it was back to business, surviving and navigating this strange life he’d fallen into.
He sat up again, this ti more steady, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
"What about Arthur and Jacob?"
Lyon raised a brow without turning around. "Those two have gone to raise wine glasses with their families. The young Lord’s return will likely occasion a considerable celebration. Perhaps the Lord of the city will call for a feast soon, given what his son apparently accomplished out there."
"Right," Nero said quietly.
"Also." Lyon set down the vial again and turned, his expression carrying so amusent. "The young Lord said to tell you that he owes you a drink. So you should probably go pay him a visit soon."
Nero’s eyes widened.
"What?" He exclaid sharply. "A lowly born like couldn’t possibly—"
"You either go or you don’t." Lyon’s tone was matter-of-fact, "If you don’t, the young Lord can see that as an affront to his hospitality. If you do go, you can lick his boots and curry so favor. I strongly advise the latter. It is what I would do either ways..."
Nero’s grimace deepened. "I figured you’d say sothing like that. I can tell you severely lack honor."
Lyon’s expression didn’t change, but sothing shifted in his eyes. A flamboyant look of "I couldn’t care less" and a guffaw.
"Honor?" He said the word in the sa crude manner one might spit out a curse, or an insult to another’s mother. "What does honor buy from the markets? Can it even purchase a stripped carcass from a butcher? I reckon not. It is worth less than a gold coin. It cannot even buy a night with a cheap whore, or a cup of even cheaper booze."
Nero snorted despite himself.
He got up from the bed slowly, testing his weight on each leg before committing to the stand. His body held graciously. He was a bit stiff, but there was absolutely no pain. He felt absolutely rejuvenated.
He grimaced then turned slightly to stare at Lyon’s back.
Did the doctor notice the changes in him?
Were the changes even obvious?
Regardless, since the doctor had not brought it up, Nero chose to remain silent.
He found his way to the door and put his hand on the fra.
Then he stopped.
He stood there for a mont with his back to the room.
Sothing swelled in his heart.
He turned around.
Lyon was already facing his desk again, back to working with the strange apparatus and vials of uniquely colored liquids and what nots.
"Lyon."
Lyon raised his gaze with one eyebrow elevated slightly. "What is it, Nero?"
Nero t his eyes for a mont.
"I owe you a drink too, you know."
Lyon looked at him for a few seconds. Then he snorted out a laugh.
A genuine laugh,
"Is that so? How amusing." He finally said. Then he turned back to his desk.
"Alright. Go get so rest, lad."
Nero smiled slightly. Then he turned around and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
***
The corridor was cool and dark, and that was exactly what Nero needed at the mont.
He walked slowly, in no particular hurry, letting the dim quiet of the Red House settle around him like sothing familiar. The garrison at this hour was subdued, its usual noise reduced to the distant murmur of voices under lamplight in the other wings influenced by the secrecy of night, and the cloudy urgings of alcohol.
There was the occasional footfall on stone sowhere above, with the shadows shifting continuously in the torchlight, moving in that restless way as shadows always moved.
Never fully still, never fully dark.
Nero had always found that particular quality of firelight corridors more comforting than complete darkness. There was a strange honesty in it, sohow.
He exhaled slowly through his nose and let his shoulders drop.
The cool air touched his face, and for a mont, he simply allowed himself to relish the coolth.
The world was dark, but so light seeped through the endless grey.
’I killed an angel,’ he thought to himself.
The words were anchored down by their own absurdity. The more he thought about it, the heavier and even more whimsical it sounded, so much so he question his own sanity, wondering if he had been dreaming all along.
But no.
It was no dream. He had indeed killed an angel.
Granted, it was a sealed and weakened angel. And he didn’t quite think that was its true body. But with the destruction of that body, the soul tied to it seed to have been eaten and digested as well.
He paused mid-stride as he reconsidered.
’There is absolutely no way that thing was an angel.’
He shook his head, resuming his walk. If Ruml Abellion had truly been a holy being, a servant of the Divine Will, then surely there would have been consequences. Surely the heavens wouldn’t simply allow one of their own to be snuffed out so casually, right?
He tilted his gaze upward, through the corridor’s ceiling towards the sky.
He waited.
The silence that answered him was exactly the sa as the silence that always was.
A deep, vast, indifference. The heavens offered nothing, as they usually did.
Nero shook his head slowly and looked forward again.
The dark path stretched ahead of him, illuminated only by the shifting lights. The shadows danced across the stone floor with the ebbing light. Like smoke or the soul of a dying man.
The corridor was familiar and he knew exactly where it would lead him.
And yet, looking at it now, it reminded him of a path of uncertainty.
The path toward his future looked exactly like this. A dark walkway entrenched in constantly shifting shadows, where hope was fleeting with darknwss more commot than light.
There was no certainty beyond the imdiate step.
A Templar of the Church, or a horrid monster despised and hunted by all.
He had the potential to beco either one...
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