MAZE HAD SEEN it all.
As his boat steered further while he stood, driven by the mellow tremor from the swamp, he witnessed how the Child of Sufferance had fought a good fight with the Eidolon of the Swamp. It was a spectacle to be observed with both awe and bafflement. Such was art.
From how he used his spear and imbued his ability in it, in order to stay afloat or move like the wind, Maze knew exactly how those abilities appeared to be. He was from the Heritage of the Crown of Thorns, the very same lineage Maze had encountered when he saw the lone Heir nearly robbed of a key she had not worn. Those mere Children possessed petty wits and talents, unable to wield their power with the capacity of the one now battling the Eidolon. To think he held such power, as it was something the Heir might likely defeat, provided he grasped the method, placing him at a significant advantage.
But he also noticed it.
Its weakness.
He would hide this revelation for now. For he had no way of interfering as another Child had appeared, clad in a gold uniform. This Child would be what was called a Child of Hope. Where sufferance had almost been torn asunder, hope indeed never failed to show itself to lend a hand. And so he must watch; perhaps he might have, or never have, had the necessity to make an intervention.
Especially that this new Child possessed a different set of abilities, that could even withstand the strength of an Eidolon's limb.
⠀
ATHELSTAN, ON THE other hand, was intrigued as the second star appeared and parried the tentacle, hauled back only a little by the heavy weight of such a limb. He alone could parry a tentacle, serving as a shield of his own, his sword held in front and the buckler at his side. This Child she was observing shouted with a thunderous voice; his body was bulky and defined, a giant several inches taller than the Heir of the Crown of Thorns.
A bright beam shimmered upon his frame, his fiery eyes, though black, stricken with a passion for triumph. His blonde hair matched the color of his sect, and with such firmness and a chiseled physique, he appeared as a glowing hero in the dark of a day where crows feasted upon the sky. This Child was perfect for his Heritage.
He pushed the limb away, the tentacle colliding with another, causing the Eidolon to groan in anger as its broken parts began to regenerate more quickly, seeping back from the swamp.
"And here I thought he would appear much later on." Athelstan stood upon her boat and placed both hands behind her in a clasp. "Why did you appear so early, Gareth of the Heritage of the Anchor?"
⠀
AS THIS HEIR of the Anchor, Gareth, withstood the limb that had nearly smashed the Heir of the Crown of Thorns, Stavros, the latter looked at him with utter bafflement.
"What are you doing here, Gareth?" Stavros asked roughly, then coughed out blood. "Are you not suppose to take care of the Father Darkness from the Land of the Springfield?"
"I already did, you sucker." Gareth glanced at him with worry. "I use help."
"Oh, help's a shit. You could have do it alone." Stavros spat before he wiped his lips. "This Eidolon. . . I presume it is either Tier III or Tier IV. How come it has find its way in this opening trial? Was this not a pre-ordained directive from the higher-ups? I thought the precepts implied that the Father Darkness in each land were supposed to be Tier I."
There was something in Stavros's tone that almost felt as if what was happening were a labyrinth, and that the likes of him had been made to be lost. But a directive was a directive nonetheless. Being briefed early on was a privilege that should have placed him a step ahead of those who were given the same advantage.
So what had gone wrong?
Why had an anomaly revealed itself now to sow such chaos?
"That is why I used help to exterminate the one tasked to me. The very moment I felt something was wrong, I have already assumed that, maybe, the directive given to us have been compromised." Gareth sighed, his golden sword glowing with a heavy countenance. "We formed a strategy for a Tier I Father Darkness, Stavros. This slaughter — what mere stupidity has befallen — we were not briefed for this." He paused. "So as to say, any signs of weaknesses?"
Stavros scurried within his mind, but the more he did so, the more his mind spun.
"Its limbs are fast, deepshit! Everything was in a haze I barely kept on. All I know is that its limbs regenerate easily within the area of its domain." He glared at the Eidolon. "As long as this one does not leave the swamp, it is no easy to be killed."
"Others will come eventually." A furrow appeared on Gareth's face. "What in the heavens . . .?"
Stavros followed what the other was looking at.
Seeing the same scenario, eventually, his eyes widened.
This Father Darkness just went past them and was going to a different direction!
The question was: Which direction, as one might ask?
As they traced for whoever was there, they could see a faint figure of someone who had a foil gold blindfold.
"Do you know about that guy?" Stavros asked, stupefied. "From which sect in Yonder does he belong?"
"He is not a Child in Yonder, Stavros. You fool, look at his uniform. Does it look like he is one of us?" The Heir of the Anchor gripped his sword tightly. "He is an Orphan . . . A Child of the Towers Below."
"Preposterous . . ." Stavros walked forward.
"Where are you going?"
"I knew why that wretched thing of Father Darkness is targeting that Orphan, Gareth!"
" . . . And why exactly?"
Stavros smirked viciously. "He obtained a hell of a key!"
Before Gareth could even ask, Stavros had already thrusted his spear, and he swiftly followed after it, as if a wind.
Gareth gave a disappointed look, as if he had a vague inkling of what the Child of Sufferance was about to pull off.
"But you can only harm a Child, you idiot."