Chapter 50: Charming Lot

Chapter 50: Charming Lot

"Charming lot, aren't they?"

"I agree, boss."

Kyran turned to Thaleia, "Are you absolutely sure he's not my issue?"

"Yes," Thaleia asserted. I wished I could comprehend the context of this exchange.

Kyran nodded, "Well, in that case, perhaps he's not. Would you like to sit?"

"No," she declined.

"So, what do you want?"

She advanced towards him, her legs slightly wobbly. Stopping about half a foot from him, she demanded, "You may guide us out of the Paths as a compensation for your impoliteness."

His smile started forming, then stopped. He retorted, "I choose not to depart again. I've done"

"Nothing for two hundred thousand years. Isn't that duration enough?"

"It is not your place to judge"

"Stay quiet. If you're adamant about letting history continue without your participation, hand me your sword. I'll carve my own path and put it to the purpose it was meant for. You may be done with it, but I don't believe it has fulfilled its purpose yet."

Kyran's jaw tightened, and his eyes glowed like the fires of Nyxara's inferno.

He finally conceded, "Very well, Thaleia d'Kyran. If you believe you're capable, you may have it."

If parts of this conversation sound confusing, trust me, I'm equally perplexed. Judging by the quick glances I threw at Drevolan's face, he was as bewildered as me. However, I'm recounting it to the best of my memory, and you'll have to be content with it, just like I am.

Thaleia responded confidently, "I can handle it."

What utter nonsense.

We navigated the hallways of the Halls of Afterlife to the best of our ability, which wasn't saying much. The previously single, wide corridor had inexplicably transformed into a convoluted labyrinth of identical passages. We aimlessly wandered for two or three hours, getting increasingly lost, and nobody was willing to admit it. We tried marking the walls with our sword points, sticking to the left-hand paths, but to no avail. The strangest part was that all passages only led to more passages. There were no rooms, stairways, doors, or anything else.

The purple-robed figures we sought for guidance simply stared at us with vacant expressions. Thaleia had secured Kyran's gigantic sword to her back, bracing herself against its weight. Drevolan looked equally stoic, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Opal and I weren't in the mood for conversation. Nobody else had any bright ideas, either. I could feel fatigue creeping in.

We took a breather, resting against a wall. Thaleia tried to sit on the floor but quickly discovered that the greatsword on her back made it impossible. Her face twisted in frustration. I could tell she was on the verge of tears. Truth be told, so was I.

Our conversation was hushed, dominated by complaints. Eventually, Drevolan interjected, "Enough. This isn't working. We need to find the gods and persuade them to release us."

"No," Thaleia objected. "The gods will hinder your departure."

"The gods don't need to obstruct me; these halls are doing a remarkable job at that," Drevolan retorted.

Thaleia remained silent.

"I think we could wander these halls endlessly without finding an exit. We need guidance. Who better to ask than Nyxara?" Drevolan suggested.

"No," Thaleia responded firmly.

"Are you lost, then?" A new voice chimed in. We turned around to see Verill once more. He seemed amused. I grimaced but held my tongue.

"Who are you?" Thaleia inquired.

"This is Verill," Drevolan clarified.

Verill returned, "And who might you be?"

"I am Thaleia."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Really? Well, this is entertaining. You're attempting to return to the land of the living, yes? In that case, I have a request. If you succeed and I'm still alive, please, don't visit me. I don't think I could bear it."