As he neared, the practiced lethargy of his gait shifted. A subtle tension coiled in his shoulders, a disguised wariness taking hold.
Vivi (thinking): "My my, what's going on here...?"
Vivi did not perceive the world through mortal eyes. Beneath the obsidian mask, his eyelids covered ruin; he had lost the light years ago. To him, perception was dynamic, a fluid tapestry of pressure and resistance. A constant wind current, lighter than a feather but absolute in its presence, emanated from him, veiling the world in an invisible sensory sheet. He felt the texture of the cobblestones, the displacement of air from a passing carriage, the breath leaving the lungs of those around him.
It wasn't their peculiar eyes that arrested his attention... he couldn't see them, after all.
It was the way his wind pierced through their flesh.
The currents brushed against them, yet the feedback was wrong. The air that should have bent around solid muscle and flesh didn't. Instead, parts of the stream passed straight through, finding no purchase, as if the beings standing before him were hollow. As if they weren't entirely there.
His smirk faded, corners drooping into a line of calculation. He stopped just a couple of feet in front of them.
Vivi: "Well, well. What's the deal with you two? You seem like a couple of... walking skeletons."
Xayn stiffened. The reaction was microscopic, but to Vivi's heightened senses, it was a thunderclap.
Xayn: "S-Skeletons?! Hah! What a strange sense of humor..."
The laugh was forced, a brittle sound that cracked under scrutiny. Vivi caught the shift in posture, the way Xayn's weight redistributed too perfectly, the way his breath hitched for a fraction of a second longer than a living man's should.
Bullseye.
Bazren, however, remained entirely unvexed. She stepped closer. Closer than social convention dictated.
A breath away.
A sensation washed over Vivi -- a cold, prickling chill that sank beneath his skin. It was the same feeling he had felt at the Pits when that one-eyed man walked past. It wasn't the heat of a brawler's rage; it was the absolute zero of a predator.
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His heart gave a singular, heavy thud against his ribs. Finally.
Bazren: "... Let's cut the small talk."
Vivi tilted his head, the obsidian mask glinting in the warm tavern light. He didn't pull back. Unlike the scarred thug at the inn who reeked of cheap booze and insecurity, this woman commanded the space she occupied. She demanded respect.
Bazren: "Listen up, 'Vivi'. We've got a deal for you. We're here to kick your ass in this tournament. And if we win? You'll be at our beck and call -- our own mercenary of sorts. Got that?"
He raised an eyebrow beneath the mask. Though her shape felt porous to his winds, the intensity radiating from her was undeniably, aggressively distinct.
Vivi: "Hmph. Got it just fine, though you have to admit it sounds like a pretty one-sided deal so far... I'll humor you, though. And what if I win?"
A pause. The silence stretched, tight as a bowstring.
Bazren: "Didn't account for that."
She crossed her arms, her chin lifting in defiance.
Bazren: "Do you have a plan in case your sun doesn't rise in the morning...?"
Vivi chuckled. The sound rumbled in his chest, rich and genuine. It was rare, so incredibly rare, that someone caught his interest like this. He couldn't see her face behind the wind's distortion, but her voice, the sheer weight of her arrogance... it was intoxicating. It promised a fight that wouldn't end in seconds.
Vivi: "You've sure got guts..."
He extended his left hand, the flesh one, for a handshake.
Vivi: "Let's see if you've got more than that."
Bazren's lips curved into a cocky smile, sharp enough to cut glass.
Vivi: "I'll take this 'deal' of yours, but I'm warning you now... you won't like my terms and conditions when you're beaten."
She took his hand. Her grip was iron, cold and unyielding.
Bazren: "Dawn always comes, mister Vivi... Your 'terms and conditions' are meaningless."
The chill ran down Vivi's spine again, sharper this time. He squeezed her hand back, a silent acknowledgment of the threat.
Vivi (thinking): "Seems all the storms have gathered for this tournament..."
He turned his head slightly to the side, sensing Pocna waiting anxiously by the counter.
Vivi (thinking): "... And if that's the case, I must bend their winds to my will."
Yet, Virno wasn't the only one unravelling forces beyond his ken...
Rota (thinking): "She's asleep..."
Lele's body rose and fell in a rhythmic, peaceful slumber. The workshop was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of orange and yellow gaslights, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. Rota moved across the room, her boots silent on the oil-stained floor, until she reached an old, battered workbench.
She slid the middle drawer open.
Rota (thinking): "Just gotta be quiet..."
Resting on a bed of velvet dust was an ornate silver bell. Strange, angular glyphs were etched onto its surface, a language wholly unknown to her, humming with a silent history.
Rota (thinking): "How much did you keep from me all those years, Clavia...?"