February Short Story - Calisto's Insight

Hey peeps!

Here is Feb's short story! WARNING: it takes place during Master Arcanist, so if you're not reading the chapters to wait until release, just be aware!

Without further ado!

Calisto's Insight

“End this, Everett. You’re not usually so weak.”

I sat in the Iron Dungeon of Thronehold, the wooden bench straining under my weight. The walls were covered in grim, the ceiling caked in smoke, and the floor soaked in urine. A wonderful coffin for a dread pirate. Just as fitting as the depths of the deepest ocean.

Everett stood in the tiny cell with me, unafraid and only a few feet away. If I still had my manticore magic, he wouldn’t have risked getting so close, but now that I wasn’t a threat, so he didn’t care. I was worthless—a waste of air. Yet, for some reason, Everett insisted we talk.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Everett said, his voice gruff and strained.

He had his arms crossed, which meant he wasn’t pleased with the situation. He always did that when he was irritated. The man kept his hair cut short, damn near smooth on the sides of his head, and it was a good look for him. Better than when he was drowning himself in booze.

Everett liked his long coats, and a bit of stubble—kept him looking like a pirate, even if he wasn’t part of that world anymore. His mimic walked around his legs, her gray fur shiny, even in the dank dungeon.

Traces…

I loved cats. But looking at her reminded me of Hellion, and then the terrible thoughts returned. Because Hellion was literally the only beast in the world who had stayed with me through thick and thin. Everyone else had abandoned or betrayed me, but Hellion was far better than the rest. He fought alongside me, bled alongside me, and…

And I failed him.

He was dead because I couldn’t protect him. Because I had terrible decisions that brought us here.

The thoughts—my own traitorous thoughts—dragged me deeper into a pit I couldn’t claw my way out of. I had to shake my head and force myself not to think, lest I succumbed to a darkness far worse than a room without light.

What was I doing in the land of the living? There was nothing for me here. The abyssal hells were my inevitable future.

I ran a hand down my face, wiping away sweat and oil. “I no longer want this gift they call life.”

“Lynus.” Everett gritted his teeth, his hands squeezing his upper arms as he tried to remain calm. “Listen. Why don’t… Why don’t you tell me more about the Second Ascension? You still have information you haven’t told me.”

That wasn’t true. Everett was just stalling. He didn’t want to end this, for some reason. It baffled me. This was what I wanted—a death at his hands seemed appropriate. Thematic, even. Better than the gallows. Better than a firing squad.

I didn’t answer his question.

Everett stepped closer, only a few inches away. I didn’t look at him. He hated that, I knew. Perhaps he’d get irritated enough to grant my wish.

Everett knelt in front of me, his mimic sliding up to his side, into my field of view, her mismatched eyes narrowed. I turned away, still not wanting to see her.

“I want to help you,” Everett muttered. “Please, Lynus. Just cooperate with me.”

“I’m a madman,” I said, deadpan. “I’ve got enough bodies to my name to fill a graveyard. There’s no helping me.” After a long exhale, I met Everett’s gaze. I wanted to make some other quip—or tell him to go to the abyssal hells—but his expression caught me off guard.

He seemed so… serious and desperate.

I didn’t know how to respond.

“If you help us fight the Second Ascension, perhaps I can convince them to give you a chance at redemption. But you have to work with me.”

I snorted and forced a laugh. Then I leaned back on my bench and turned my attention to the far wall. There was nothing left for us to say to one another.

Everett must’ve been more frustrated than I suspected, because he grabbed the collar of my shirt and jerked me forward. I met his gaze, glaring and tense. Maybe this was it? He was finally frustrated enough to end my life?

“Dammit, Lynus,” he growled. “Talk to me. If you wanted death so badly, nothing would’ve stopped you. We would’ve found a corpse in this cell the moment anyone glanced away. What’re you doing?”

I grabbed his wrist, my own anger rising to meet his. “Don’t act like you care about my wellbeing. You never did before.” I ripped his hand off the collar of my shirt and shoved him away. “You know the legends. Death Lords won’t show themselves to those who kill themselves. End me. Get this over with.”

Everett stood and moved away, his expression so aggressively neutral I didn’t know how to interpret it.

“I never cared?” he asked.

“When have you ever tried to speak to me like this?”

Everett clenched his hands into fists so tightly, a small trickle of blood wept from his palm. “I tried to speak to you on the Third Abyss.” He spoke every word slowly and icyly. “You refused to listen. You tortured me for staying on the ship.” Everett pulled his shirt down, exposing the scars on his body.

Scars I had given him.

More memories and thoughts that threatened to gut me from the inside out.

Everything grew still and quiet. Even Traces didn’t move. She just stood by her arcanist, her attention on me.

“I have every reason to kill you,” Everett eventually muttered. “It’s only because I care that I’m trying to speak with you. Please. Lynus. Believe me when I say… I never wanted this.”

After a long exhale, I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My thoughts were growing ever more prickly, like razor thorns on the stem of a rose. I hated dwelling on the past—on the things I had done and seen—and I tried not to imagine how things could haveturned out if only I had made different decisions.

What if.

But I didn’t have those options anymore. My hands were stained with too much blood. One death was a tragedy, but I was a walking crime statistic. Hundreds had fallen to my cutlass. Hundreds more carried scars and injuries.

“Why don’t you tell me about the arcanist with the rizzel?” Everett asked, his voice distant as I dwelled on the past. “The one in the Second Ascension. Rhys. He’s not a rizzel arcanist, is he? What’s going on? Help me understand.”

A rizzel arcanist…

Like the girl with one eye. Illia. The one I had harmed.

Even thinking about that…

It drove me insane.

“I want to speak with her,” I said.

Everett crossed his arms again. “Who?”

“The Frith Guild arcanist. Illia.”

Everett narrowed his eyes, his lips pursed. “Why?”

“I want to speak to her,” I repeated. I offered no other explanation. There was nothing else to say.

Eventually, Everett sighed and left the cell, leaving me to my quiet solitude. He was right. If I wanted to die, I could kill myself in this tiny, dirty cell. But I wanted someone else to do it. I wanted my proper death—so that when I went to the abyssal hells, I’d finally get to speak with the real Calisto.

***

Everett returned, this time with Illia and the world serpent arcanist.

They muttered things between each other, anger and worry in their tone. I waited, damn near bored, my thoughts threatening to drive me insane. I hated being awake. Part of me wanted to lie down and never get up.

Illia and the world serpent arcanist approached. They stayed on the other side of the cell bars, though.

The girl…

She was a stoic lass. Eyepatch. Stiff gait. Clothing suited for a classic swashbuckler. Her eldrin—the white rizzel—stayed on her shoulders, half-hidden in her wavy brown hair.

I didn’t look at her. I kept my gaze on the floor.

The world serpent arcanist hovered around, protective but quiet. His tall stature, messy black hair, and confidence stance was hard to mistake. He had once been just a lad—a knightmare arcanist—and now he was one of the most powerful individuals in the world. The Autarch was jealous. If only this world serpent arcanist knew the kind of power that he would eventually have…

I suspected he would kill me if I jumped up and attacked, but I had nothing—not even the will to stand. Perhaps, if I could muster the giving a damn, I’d have a good death at his hands.

Illia waited for me to speak.

Fine. I’d cut straight to the chase.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” I asked.

If Everett wouldn’t do it, surely Illia would. She had once come to assassinate me, after all. She was one of the few people who had the guts to face me—with king basilisk venom—and state she would kill me.

Illia narrowed her eye. “That’s why you asked me here?”

“I’ve given you all the information you’ve wanted.” I shifted his weight around on the rickety jail bench, my legs hurting. I hadn’t moved much since I got here. A whole day on the unforgiving wood bench. “I’m done with waiting.”

“You’ve got places to go?” the rizzel quipped, his voice a chirp.

“I’ve got a Death Lord to meet.” I exhaled, my frustrations going with my breath. “Just end this already.”

“Speaking with Zelfree didn’t help?” Illia asked.

The question caught me off guard. I glanced up, meeting her one-eyed gaze. “What?”

“Speaking to Zelfree—to Everett—that didn’t help? You didn’t get everything you wanted off your chest?”

“What’s it matter to you?” I asked, my voice scratching my throat with each word.

Illia squared her shoulders and sighed. It took a moment to gather her thoughts, but I waited. If the lass wanted to say something, I was ready to hear it.

“You don’t know me very well,” she began, her words slow and careful, “but I lived most of my life on a small island. Ever since… you took my eye… I had nightmares about being helpless, and unable to do what was needed to save the people I loved. I thought it was because you still roamed the oceans.”

Her words sank into my poisonous thoughts. The world was trash—and I was one of the reasons that was the case.

“But I spoke with Master Zelfree many times.” Illia closed her eye. “And I learned… he felt the same way. Not because he had lost an eye, but because he, too, had lost a lot in his life. His family. His friend. His lover. We’ve got a lot in common. Maybe toomany things in common. And he helped me understand that strength doesn’t come in the form of a single moment—or a single revenge kill. It comes from years of dedication, determination, and inner growth that has nothing to do with you.”

She was trying to teach me a lesson? I was too far gone for that.

With a shrug, I said, “Do I need to hear your monologue, lass? I just don’t want to live anymore.”

“Everett wants you to live,” Illia stated, a slight amount of anger in her voice. “And that’s not because he needs you to in order to feel forgiven, or because he feels he owes you something. It’s because he knows you weren’t given many chances in your life.” She took another step closer to the bars of the jail cell. “He wants to do what’s right. He wants you to atone for what you’ve done. He doesn’t want to see you take the coward’s way out.”

I chuckled at the thought. There was nothing left for me. What was I even doing here? Why give me another chance. A chance to do what? They’d never let me become an arcanist again. I’d never see Hellion again, or captain my own ship. Did they want me as a dog? A pet? Some sort of reminder of the past? A pathetic trophy?

I didn’t understand anything they wanted from me. I was a worthless individual.

Life had no meaning.

“I’ve bad news for you, lass,” I said. “Either you kill me, and finally get some sort of revenge, or the stink of the dungeon will do it, and no one will feel very satisfied.”

“You don’t feel guilty about what you’ve done?” Illia whispered.

Guilt? That wasn’t the right word. The burning sensation of my memories wasn’t guilt. It was something else.

I said nothing.

“You never think back to your villainy and regret your actions?”

I couldn’t think back. The thoughts and memories were too painful—thinking too far back was like shoving my hand into a fire.

“There aren’t any words that linger in your thoughts and memories?” Illia asked. “Something you wish you could take back? You did everything without remorse?”

“And what if I did?” I growled. “Could we cut to the chase, then?”

“Well, you can lie to me, but I know the truth.” Illia stepped away from the jail cell. “When we last fought… I saw the look on your face. It was regret. It stuck with me.” She rubbed her face, especially around her eye.

A nervous tic. She touched her face often when her thoughts turned inward.

“You were seeing things, lass,” I muttered. There was nothing for us to discuss.

“I wasn’t. And it made me realize that perhaps Everett was right.”

I shook my head, sweat dripping off the ends of my grimy copper hair. “I’m made of as much trash as the next guy.”

“Everett wants to help you,” Illia said. “And I’ve made my peace. I won’t be the one to kill you.”

Then Illia left. The world serpent arcanist went with her, ignoring me completely.

I kept my gaze on the floor, the stone bricks all I could see.

***

Time passed.

I wasn’t sure how long.

Everett eventually returned to my cell. He opened the barred door, entered, and then shut the door after. His eldrin waited outside, like she was going to keep watch. I didn’t care. I was barely paying attention.

He stood close but said nothing. What was there to say anymore? I was weak, and useless, and a waste. All that was left was my death, and yet Everett denied me that.

More time passed.

Everett said nothing.

I kept my thoughts quiet by focusing on the chill in the cell and the ache in my empty stomach. I hadn’t eaten, but the agony of a restless belly was subsiding. Would a Death Lord show themselves to those who refused to eat? Probably not.

Then Everett sat on the floor. There wasn’t enough room on the rickety bench for the two of us, and I suspected he meant to stay for a while.

But he shouldn’t sit on the disgusting floor…

With what little energy I had, I forced myself to stand. Everett’s eyes widened at my movement, like I had been a corpse that he never thought would move again. Before he could say anything, I grabbed his upper arm, helped him to his feet, and then shoved him toward the bench. Everett sat, his eyes still wide.

It was amusing whenever I managed to shock him. It didn’t happen very often.

I leaned my back against the grimy wall and slowly slid down it into a sitting position. If one of us had to sit on this body fluid crusted floor, it would be me. It was where I belonged, not Everett.

For a short moment, Everett stared at me, his eyebrows knitted, his whole body tense. I said nothing. What did he want? A your welcome?

Then Everett leapt off the bench and knelt in front of me, keeping his gaze level with mine. He placed a hand on my knee and gently squeezed, like he wanted his words to seep into me one way or another.

“Lynus, listen to me. I don’t want to lose you. I know you’ve done terrible things in the past. I should’ve been there for you and tried to convince you that it wasn’t the right path, or maybe I should’ve insisted you join the Frith Guild when I had the chance… But I can’t change any of that now.”

I listened, and the hurt in words echoed the pain of hiding in some of my memories. Perhaps his thoughts stung as well.

“I’m going to help you,” he stated.

With a smirk, I said, “By ending me?”

Everett replied with half a smile, his eyes alight with his crafty intelligence I had always loved. “What if I killed Calisto, but let Lynus live? Would that be acceptable?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to grasp what he was saying. I said nothing in reply—what was there to say? What he was saying was impossible.

“I had an idea,” Everett muttered. “But I need you to listen. And trust me. And I know you don’t want to—and I’m sorry if I ever failed you before—but this time will be different.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice rusty.

Because now I was worthless? Because now it didn’t matter if he failed. No one would care.

“This time will be different because I’ve already lost too much.” Everett’s grip on my leg tightened. “I’m going to make this right. I promise.”

What a wagon wheel. He spoke with the intensity and passion of when we were kids. I missed that—his drive and undeniable determination to do whatever it took.

Maybe it was because he reminded me of what it was like before we became arcanists, but when Everett said he would make this right, I believed him. Part of me didn’t want it, though. Part of me still wanted the abyssal hells route because it would be easier.

I didn’t reply. Perhaps I just wanted to see what he would do and offer no input.

Everett stood, a little less filled with drive, but still determined. “I’ll be back,” he said as he turned on his heel and left my cell. His mimic hurried after, occasionally glancing back at me.

I waited on the floor, not caring whether I was on the damn bench or the cold stones.

Kill Calisto but leave Lynus alive, huh? I wondered what he meant by that…

And the thoughts of living as kids again—together and happy—chased away the dark memories at least for a short while. Which was pleasant, if ultimately undeserved.