Chapter 135 – In which one must confront their feelings (3)
It had to be a coincidence, really.
But by what luck could he run into person this elusive?
When Sangria returned to the Universe Temple (ordered to do so by Scarlen), he asked if he could see His Excellency, but was politely informed that it would be quite impossible at least until next evening.
Saint was reportedly engaging in various rites from morning to evening and could not see guests.
Sangria sensed no lie or ill from the guard that informed him of it, so he could only trust his senses and assume she was truthful.
Then, finding provided lodgings only more irritating his suffocating anxiety, he went on a walk in the temple’s gardens.
Guards were following behind him, keeping an eye, but besides that, he was free to roam the beautiful acres of curious plants.
Absorbed in a little game of trying to recognize and name as many flowers as he could, he didn’t realize that at some point he lost his tail of guards.
What’s more, he himself seemed to be lost.
That confused him most, because as a mage, he always kept precise track of his location.
But the dome of auditorium that should been a kilometer away, seemed to be a kilometer and a half away, and the little circle of cypress trees, that he could swear, he passed just ten minutes ago, now seemed to be at least thirty minutes walk distant.
Looking up at the starry sky, the constellations seemed to be a bit too clattered to the left, the trajectory of stars a little twisted.
‘I was caught in an illusion.’
Was his only logical explanation.
How did he stumbled into this illusion without noticing was anyone guess, but the biggest problem was how to get out.
Sangria would rather not be found where he shouldn’t.
And so he frantically tried to find his way out, but the illusion was more persistent and harder to escape then he expected.
Aimlessly walking around for three hours, he spotted a moving lantern in the distance.
It had to be a person.
Slowly approaching his wits end, he decided that there was no better option than ask for help.
Iben and two priests at that small archive temple told him he was basically invulnerable in Purplus for the time being, so he probably would be forgiven a small misconduct.
Especially if he really didn’t mean it, right?
So he rushed towards that lantern and…
That brings us to Sangria’s current conundrum.
A few paces away, His Excellency Amara was lighting up small altars hidden by a foliage.
No guards or servants were seen around, but Sangria couldn’t imagine how the most tightly protected person in the country, could be without them.
He could only assume his senses weren’t good enough to see them.
If only he could freely use magic…
“Master Sangria, do you perhaps wish to speak about something with me?”
While Sangria was seriously deliberating if it was really safe for him to just approach the Saint in the middle of the night, the Saint himself seemed to have noticed him a long time ago and lifted his head.
A small smile tugged on Amara’s lips.
It wasn’t so vibrant as the last time he saw him, but somehow Sangria could tell it was still genuine, though a little restrained, smile.
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“Ah, yes. I apologize for disturbing you, Your Excellency. I appear to be lost…”
“That I can tell. No one enters Phantom Formation without ending up lost.” He blinked. “Well, besides me, I guess.”
“Phantom Formation…?”
“Oh, the name is unnecessary ghostly. It’s just a formation that makes you lose sense of direction and distance. But no one wants to call it Drunk-man Formation.”
“May I ask why is such a formation here…?”
“Well. That’s what the Phantom part comes in. Turns out it also works for ghosts, so I’m attempting to trap all ghosts in it and soothe them with the night gods’ rites. It’s part of their domain.”
Sangria briefly considered pointing out that ghosts aren’t real, but considering that he was in front of the head cultist of all cultists, he restrained himself.
“I see… Thank you for sharing, Your Excellency. You seem busy, so I’ll not bother you any further. If you could be just so kind and point me in the direction the exit.”
Amara’s eyes curled up. They seemed to be laughing at something, but Sangria’s brain was to fried to realize at what.
“Just go straight this way.”
The Saint pointed and Sangria quickly followed the direction, after a bow of gratitude.
… About half a hour later he found himself back in front of the Saint in the same place.
“I… might need Your Excellency to point me in the direction again…”
“Hahaha!”
This time His Excellency couldn’t hold it and burst out laughing.
Sangria blinked, feeling his cheeks and ears burn with even higher degree of intensity, than when he asked the question.
“Ahah, Master Sangria, may I recommend that you just wait until I finish the rites? I’ll walk you out.”
“… I’m sorry to burden you, Your Excellency.”
“You don’t burden me at all. Please come.”
And the Saint lead Sangria to a small table set beside a pool collecting moonlight.
There was a basket of fruits and bottles, as if someone was ready for a picnic.
“Please sit down. Would you like some wine?”
Amara asked as he picked up a bottle and two cups.
“I… No, thank you. I feel drunk enough.”
That senses-messing formation was going to drive him crazy soon.
“What about fruits?”
Amara asked, while he poured a cup of wine for himself and picked a few fruits from the basket.
It looked like he was about to feast.
Sangria was overcome with a sudden unease.
“Your Excellency, I’m sorry for my rudeness, but didn’t you said you’re carrying out rites right now?”
“I do.” He took a sip of wine. “That’s a part of it, believe or not. I’m supposed to feast with all the ghostly guests, who come to me, but tonight’s guests appear rather shy. So Master Sangria will have to do. Don’t worry, night gods won’t mind.”
Sangria didn’t care what some energy-based beings thought of him.
No, maybe though…
“Is Nyxious among them?”
He asked, suddenly struck by curiosity.
“So you learned their name.” Amara’s face brightened, as he found this little fact delightful. “No. Their rites are a bit different and don’t fall into this category.”
Sangria nodded, it seemed like a good segue into asking more questions about Crimo’s god, something he was explicitly sent to ask for, but…
He looked at the throne ruler who sat on the opposite side of the table, with his chin in one hand and swirling a cup with the other.
When Scarlen sent Sangria out he told him to focus on gathering information they needed and nothing else.
Scarlen seemed of an opinion that it was all a political ploy, and that Sangria shouldn’t put too much heart into Saint’s behavior.
But Sangria was curious… Was Saint’s attraction to him genuine?
There was a real feeling to all his smiles.
And what he said when they first meet, when Amara came to rescue Crimo…
“May I ask a private question?”
Amara raised an eyebrow, but he nodded.
Still, Sangria hesitated.
“It may be very private, I’m not sure if Your Excellency would be okay with anyone hearing it.”
He was still wary of the servants and guards that must be around somewhere…
“There is no guards or servants here, if that what you’re worried about.”
Sangria gave Amara a weird look.
Amara just shrugged.
“They are having a nice dreams about diligently carrying out their duty. I don’t wish to interrupt them. So, your oh so private question?”
Sangria took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
“Do you know me?”
When His Excellency saw him for the first time, at least to Sangria’s knowledge, he asked ‘What happened to your eyes?’.
As if he knew that the color of Sangria’s eyes was unnatural…
“No.”
Amara, who was about to take a sip of wine, put down the cup instead and examined Sangria.
His gaze was scrutinizing, as if he was a jeweler examining a diamond he cut.
“When I first met you… at Archmage’s manor, I mistaken you for someone else.”
He smiled sadly.
“But that person is dead, never to come back.”
For a brief moment, Sangria glimpsed in Saint’s eyes grief so deep, his heart twisted and he spit out without thinking:
“Reincarnation was scientifically proven. Can’t that person come back one day?”
Amara was silent for a moment.
He was looking at a flustered Sangria with a playful curiosity now.
“Would that be right?”
“What?”
“Would that be right for me to force upon you an identity that already died? Just to soothe the pain in my chest?”
“…”
“Master Sangria, I don’t claim to know whether a reincarnated soul can be said to be the same person, who died. That’s a debate I only oversee, not participate in. But whether it’s one or the other, I think it would be too cruel to define one’s future by their past. So no, I don’t know you, Master Sangria.”
He picked up a cup again and took a sip.
Sangria suddenly felt that his throat was terribly itchy and dry, and grabbed the wine bottle to pour himself a cup too.
The Saint didn’t stop him.
“But I must admit that Master Sangria has something of a miracle in him.”
“… Yes?”
Sangria, who was about to take a sip of wine, paused.
“I thought I would never love again. Yet here I’m.”
. . .
Oh.
Oooh.
He was genuine.
Those eyes couldn’t lie...
That said… Sangria suddenly remembered a fact that really bothered him.
“Your Excellency, you’re nineteen. You have entire life to fall in love again.”
Why are you talking like an old man, unearthing love after hundreds of years??
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