Rust - 1. Chapter 1: Acclimation

Chapter 1: Acclimation

 

Imagine yourself flying, just for a moment. Flying across a wasteland that expands miles upon miles, until the numbers become astronomical. Nothing but desert. Some say that, if you try, you can see the old remains of something greater this world had to offer eons ago. Highway overpasses now shadowy monoliths to an empire shoved so deeply under the rug. The suns are not forgiving, all three of them. They beat the land like ruthless overlords.

 

You try with all your might to focus on the horizon, the heat rising tendrils of displaced air. They say if you travel far enough you can reach a place with water as far as the eye can see. Clear blue liquid and soft breezes.

 

The wasteland continues, leaving behind the day dream of cool water, something glitters in the distance. A sign of life, perhaps?

 

Oh yes.

 

A city rockets to the sky, forged of blood and steel. It glitters, reflecting the blazing trinity in the sky. The skyscrapers seem to indeed scrape the sky, the few clouds that ever mustered in this land hanging loosely around the airspace of the city. Those clouds were not natural; no, they were stuffed with pollution, waste.

 

The City is massive, expanding further than you can imagine. Buildings reach for the sky, others are not so lucky. Tendrils of smoke snake their way up to the pollution above the City skyline, hoping to make their place in the world. Surrounding the metropolis a large wall. It was to protect, they said, but everybody knew otherwise.

 

The City was called Rust in some languages, stranger names in others. She was a cruel mistress, relentless in her pursuit for control. She would shelter you, protect you, but for a price of course. Everything in Rust had a price. Especially the people.

 

To the people of Rust, it was the only way of living. The City was their home. Beyond the gates of Rust was damnation and exile, a punishment fit only for those of the highest sin.

 

The foundations of Rust are simple; outwit, outsmart and outplay the others around. Family, a loose concept, betrayal and treachery were committed on a basis similar to the brushing of one’s teeth. The only way to become great was to draw blood, then Rust will shine upon you.

 

However, even if one must drive a dagger into their brother’s heart, Rust was ruled with an iron fist, indeed.

 

For every great empire must be controlled, save for an ultimate downfall.

 

You see, Rust is controlled by four families; Blackheart, Kepslin, Orleons and Saron. Known collectively as The Houses of Rust, each family had a hold over the City in some age long ago.

 

No one kept track anymore, though.

 

But despite this, each family’s lineage spreads like a cancer throughout the City. To be aligned with a family was your life; to serve them was your purpose. The immediate members of the families partook in luxury beyond your wildest dreams. Others suffered lonely nights deep below in the city dungeon complex. Some were even murdered in their sleep without any idea of what had happened.

 

For a while now, the Saron family has had an iron grip upon Rust. Their coffers brim with endless wealth, their children are beautiful and the lineage is held together by strong politicians, bankers and tax consultants.

 

The Orleons have opposed Saron for eons, although the reasons were never clear as to why. It was constant bloodshed, a quiet war that even the other Houses chose to ignore. On the other hand, Kepslin was a courageous merchant family and the Blackhearts were wild, uncontrollable sorcerers. As such, they were loony.

 

Further, the leaders of Rust are each, in their own right, ruthless warriors. Warriors of pride and greed, sitting atop thrones of malachite, swimming in a bounty slowly sucked from the denizens of Rust.

 

Four High Mothers and High Fathers, each the creators of the families they now rule. To attain rank within each one would serve their family to the end, perhaps even to death. To catch the eye of their High Father, some would betray their own family to creep higher in another.

 

An issue still being resolved was that of the idea of slavery. The concept was hard to grasp for some. Recent expeditions to the far South had the Stewards (which shall be covered in a moment) returning with people of a dark complexion. They did not fight nor show hostility, and their ability to do household things the citizens of Rust chose not to do ensured that they fit in perfectly. The improper use of one of these individuals, Dredgers as they were noted, was against high decree. For one of the Houses to be found treating their Dredgers poorly was akin to political suicide.

 

And what of the Stewards? They are chosen individuals sworn to protect the House they Bind. Usually each individual has a specific Bind, a Bind to which they are assigned. An individual may sometimes chose to whom they Bind, but this is a rare occurrence. A Steward’s skills are numerous and their ability to kill is breathtaking. There are some who oppose the usage of Stewards, as their ability to protect the one they Bind to is controlled by magic. City-approved and regulated magic, of course.

 

Magic is still an unknown source, still being studied at various Universities throughout the City. Its uses are considered malevolent by the House Council; however, Saron and Blackheart claim its uses are only toward good. Magic has also brought about the illegal practice of demon fighting. To be caught under the charges of demon fighting was a Class A4 crime. A sentence of death, usually. Sorcerers, regardless of House affiliation, are considered dangerous.

 

Everyone else lives their lives, although some choose to become affiliated with a specific House. These people choose to adopt their ideals; yet they work their regular jobs, sleeping in their homes and enjoying holidays with their families. For these people, ignorance is indeed bliss. As long as their city stands, life was indeed perfect.

 

The world outside of Rust was unknown. A great, high wall surrounds the city, protecting those within from that which lurks outside. They say that a wyrm lives below the wastes, a creature of scales and flames. An entity of life and death, fearsome to the most powerful of Stewards, or even the High Father Sebastian Saron. It was told to children to scare them from going near the wall. If you listen at night, you can hear it breathing; resting below the earth until it awakens to devour all of Rust.

 

Stewards were the only ones able to go into the Openness, an apt name. Surrounding Rust was a landscape of dull flat desert. Within Rust, the climate was controlled; outside, one did not truly know heat until they stood in the mid day Openness. The blazing threesome above did not help, either.

 

Another joins the whirling mass of Rust, a Steward. Colin Richardson, as plain as this day and the next. His training had brought him far into the service of House Kepslin. He had bound to Heather Kepslin, the Fifth Daughter of the High Father. She was an unassuming woman, which Colin was thankful for. The most work he had done for her was when her purse had been stolen at a local club. The elder women enjoyed the younger men of Rust.

 

Colin himself had been a frequent target of her batting fake eyelashes.

 

Today was different.

 

A door buzzer rang on the eighty ninth floor of the Kepslin tower, prompting Colin to shuffle his socks across the wood. Heather was napping and he himself had been as well. Opening the massive oak door, he peered at the wiry looking gentleman on the other side.

 

"Steward Richardson?"

 

"Er...yes, here..." Colin jarred his brain to wake up.

 

"You've been reassigned, report to the Capitol immediately..." The messenger checked the note he was reading off of. "And....that's all."

 

"Where am I being reassigned to?"

 

"No idea. Make haste, though; Chronos is annoyed." The man shrugged and headed off.

 

"Oh...." Colin glanced down the hallway to the closed door of his master’s bedroom. Collecting his shoes, he left. Reassignment? His mind raced with possibilities, scenarios, beginnings, endings.

 

Taking the elevator to the street level, he hailed a cab to the Capitol building. Usually, Stewards had their own transportation. However, Colin was poor. His predominantly-gray uniform was even grayer than usual, although various colors associated with what he had achieved in the field of duty were known to adorn it. Grand Stewards, those who protected High Fathers and Mothers, wore the deepest of red; the true color of Rust.

 

The Capitol was usually busy with activity, various committees meeting to discuss nothing important, Stewards bustled around, clearly the bitch of their masters. Some ran to print something, others with several full coffee mugs. Colin reached the front desk, manned by a dim-witted looking blonde.

 

"Hi."

 

"Um... can you hold?" She beamed up at him. "Welcome to the, uh... Capitol. What do you want?" Colin sighed, looking at his boots. "Hello?" She asked, holding the phone away from her face.

 

"I'm here for reassignment, that's all I know."

 

"Name?"

 

"Colin Richardson." He heard another voice shout, "Who?!" He turned, two suits were talking about someone else.

 

"Up to Chronos’ office, immediately, take the second elevator."

 

"Do you know where I am being reassigned to?" he asked, but she was already on the phone again; probably forgetting all about Colin Richardson.

 

The elevator ride up one hundred and thirty floors was tiresome in the packed transportation. The Steward stood shoulder-to-shoulder with various City officials. It smelled unpleasant.

 

Colin had arrived at the Grand Steward Office. Raphael Chronos was the current High Steward, elected by the votes of his peers. A strong man, Colin had only seen him briefly when he was sworn into the service of a Steward - along with the five hundred other Stewards that Chronos would never remember.

 

The office itself was sleek; glass, waterfalls, a pretty receptionist. Two crimson-garbed Grand Stewards stood behind the front desk, clearly proud of their rank. Colin made his way to the desk.

 

"How may I help you?" she asked, pleasantly enough.

 

"I'm here for reassignment." He glanced at one of the Stewards behind the desk, as they met eyes for a moment. Was that a smirk? Colin refocused his attention to the receptionist.

 

"Go right on in, Mr. Chronos is waiting." Colin nodded, brushing his uniform down to remove any lint. He pushed through the doors, past the snarky Steward. Into the lion’s den where the lion waited patiently, a cigar at his lips.

 

"Ah, Richardson, sit down." Colin felt cold at the use of his last name, they were already on that basis. Chronos was a no riff-raff kind of person. The cigar smoke clung in a heavy cloud above the bald head of the High Steward. The various adornments on his uniform glittered in the setting sun light.

 

"Sir!" Colin saluted, a firm fist over his heart before sitting.

 

"You know what I appreciate, Richardson?"

 

"No, sir! However, I would love to appreciate it with you!" All Stewards were taught that, to their superiors, they were nothing. If someone was above you, it was because they drove their weapons deeper into the heart of their enemies and you were just a big pussy. Colin was always good at this.

 

"As you should." He puffed at his cigar, standing now. He was a stout man, shorter than Colin. His eye patch was menacing; some said he fought a great Balrog, slaying the demon but with the sacrifice of his eye. "Responsible Stewards...you know a responsible Steward can get high and even wear that bright fucking color of red, does that idea sound good?"

 

"Yes sir! I would say I am almost sexually excited at the idea!" The more absurd, the better. Colin usually kept a straight face.

 

"Good talk, son. Now," he sat back at his desk, "I am having you reassigned to Saron." Colin made a noise, something of shock. "Is there a problem, Richardson?" Chronos peered at Colin with that one gray eye.

 

"No sir! I cannot contain my excitement." Colin’s mind raced. Saron? He had never been around that...type of person.

 

"Alexi Saron, the Third Son of Sebastian himself." Chronos looked pleased. "Can you fulfill this charge?"

 

"Yes sir!" Colin had no other choice. "If I may speak freely, sir!"

 

"Yes, out with it," Chronos spat.

 

"Why me... sir?" Colin stammered a moment. Chronos glanced up, smirking, the cigar moving across his chapped lips.

 

"We needed a nobody." Colin stared. Chronos forced a bushy eyebrow upward, "Dismissed. A car will be waiting." Colin saluted and wandered slowly to the elevator and to the bottom floor.

 

A car was indeed waiting.

 

Colin knew it was to take him to the Saron Tower. Destiny dripped from the exhaust pipe.

 

"Steward Richardson?" A bald man with dark glasses approached him.

 

Before Colin could nod, the man had him in the back of the car. The door slammed. He was not alone. Three other men similar to the one who was apparently driving gazed at him through dark glasses. Was this security? For what?

 

The car began to move at a high rate of speed. Colin tried to sink back into the black leather. Were they looking at him? What were they looking at?

 

The car ride seemed endless. At that point it came to a halt, and the three men left the car. As Colin tried to follow one nudged him back with a curt, "Wait."

 

Colin could see the men move away from the open door, conversation was being had.

 

An explosion.

 

The car was thrown into the sky, Colin tumbled around, his head banging against the glass window. He heard yells, shouting, fire columned into the air. The car had landed, Colin’s body felt numb.

 

Smoke began to fill the coach of the car. A gloved hand came through the crushed door grabbing hold of Colin's shoulder, hauling him out. Sputtering, Colin felt the burn of the suns.

 

All around him was Openness. Delicate sand that moved secretly with the wind, endless nothing. He turned, eyes blinded by the solar trinity above, the City of Rust rose high into the stratus.

 

"I am ....outside the gates?" He croaked, his throat still sore from the smoke. Sinking to his knees he felt his body for injury. Nothing.

 

"Yes, yes you are." Colin whirled around, a body moved toward him, skittering back across the sand. Colin flipped upward, something he had learned at the Academy.

 

Attempting to focus through his headache, Colin summoned forth a dagger of crystal, a blade all Stewards used that crackled with lightning. It was able to even deflect bullets.

 

Raising the crystalline dagger, Colin faced a most handsome man. An immaculate suit, a brilliant blue tie. Blue eyes twinkled beneath thick-rimmed glasses.

 

A gloved hand was held in the air, signaling a truce. "I mean no harm." Strolling forward, past Colin, he spoke again. "Come. Put that away."

 

"No." Colin growled, "Tell me your name, who are you? Who are they?" The tip of the dagger jutted toward the dead men with dark glasses.

 

"They?" The face of his savior was tanned, lightly, as if he had been out in the Openness before. Most citizens of Rust held a pale complexion, as venturing outside the gates was forbidden. "Orleons filth. Their attempt to..." he paused, his eyes glazing over, "Dispatch you, failed...expertly countered by yours truly." He bowed, the tie dangling to touch the sand.

 

"Thank you."

 

"It was nothing, really. I am Nikolas, Grand Sorcerer of Saron and Assistant to the Archmage."

 

"Why did they want to kill me?" Colin shrieked, suddenly realizing the flame and charred bodies that sank slowly into the sand around them.

 

"What?" The wind traveled across the dune, moving the sand an inch further. "Oh, yes... nothing, nothing of importance to you. Now, come, we must Bind you before Master Alexi has supper. Come, come." Nikolas held out his arm, "Grab hold."

 

"Why?" Colin still gripped his dagger.

 

Nikolas laughed, warm and bubbly. "How will you ever hear the answer if you ask so many questions?"

 

"How do I know that you are not going to kill me, too?"

 

"Why would I do that? I am of Saron, not.... that." The charred body of the Orleons thug sizzled.

 

"Prove it!" Colin shook the dagger, preparing for anything. He was trained to ask questions, Rust was full of deception.

 

Nikolas smiled, "I do not need to prove it."

 

"Yes, you do."

 

"Do not."

 

"Do too!" Colin growled, "Chronos sent me to that car, was it him? Why would..."

 

"No, it was not him. He is blissfully unaware, his constant stupidity however has him categorized as harmless. Now, put your hand on my forearm. We have a schedule to keep."

 

Colin hesitated, he stared past Nikolas into the barren Openness. "What if I just left, right now?" The young Steward looked to the Sorcerer.

 

Nikolas followed Colin's hazel eyes across the horizon of the Openness, "Even with your training, you would die eventually. There is no water."

 

"I can conjure it," the Steward remarked, confidently.

 

"Magic cannot replace natural need. You would survive for a time, yes; but eventually, your body would reject the conjured liquid, as it is not real." Nikolas paused. "Respectfully, Steward, we must be going. You are safe now. I am surprised you are so...shaken up over this. You were born and raised within the bosom of our Mother. You should not fear death, a dagger under your pillow and a pistol in your nightstand. Those are the ways of Rust." Nikolas craned his head to look up at the towering walls of Rust.

 

"Perhaps I'm different." Colin felt Nikolas grip on his shoulder, as the uneasy sensation of magic rippled in the air. The feeling of dropping miles from the sky, reality became a rainbow and the Steward found himself standing in the black marble foyer of the Saron Tower.

 

"Look alive, Steward," Nikolai whispered. Colin straightened his shoulders, a woman's screaming echoed from above. Similar to the men who had picked him up at the Capitol Building, the foyer of the Saron tower was equipped with a pretty little blonde secretary and filled with men in dark glasses. Their weapons concealed, Colin knew they carried painful firearms.

 

"NIKOLAI!" A woman burst from two double doors. Colin caught sight of several Dredgers shadowing the woman, carrying towers of paper; one with a water bowl, another with a warm towel that steamed into the gray air. The men in glasses shifted in their positions.

 

"Mother..." Nikolai tilted his head slightly.

 

 

"Oh Nikolai!" The woman was beautiful, her white gown flowing over the marble. She wore no shoes. Tears poured from her blue eyes as she embraced Nikolai, weeping. "Your father...he is ill!"

 

"What? This cannot be! How?" Colin heard the concern in the Sorcerer’s voice.

 

"I cannot say," the woman stepped back, wiping her eyes. The Dredgers lingered on the edges, their faces devoid of emotion. This family treated them improperly, everyone knew.

 

"Well, I shall collect my apprentices..."

 

"To the DEPTHS with your apprentices. This is the work of YOUR magic!" Her blue eyes swung to Colin for a moment, his head bowed as he stared intently at the marble floor. "It was the work of that Jordin Blackheart!" Despite her beauty, her voice was that of a Thunder God. "I WANT HIM DEAD. Bring him to me, I shall cut his eyes with my very nails." She stormed from the foyer, her faithful Dredgers following.

 

After she was gone, Nikolai spoke loudly. "Nobody is to touch Jordin. I shall speak to him myself.” He paused, catching sight of a new participant. “Ah, Alexi, finally...."

 

Colin looked up. Walking from the same doors as the screaming Mother of Saron, Alexi Saron now stood before them.

 

He was the embodiment of Saron. Flowing blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, an angular face that would not be ignored.

 

"Brother... what of father? Have you heard?" The sincerity in his voice sounded poisonous. Colin watched from behind Nikolai, observing, as he was taught.

 

"I will attend to him, it must be nothing. Perhaps a small cold. He can be dramatic."

 

"I would agree..." Colin felt Alexi's eyes, but the Steward focused on the farthest wall, standing at attention. "Does Issac know?"

 

"I am sure he does." Nikolai sighed. "As does Fredrick. There is no talk of father dying." Nikolai waved a finger at Alexi.

 

"Yes, I know." Alexi looked to Colin, "Is this him?"

 

"Ah, yes, Colin Richardson, your new Steward." Nikolai stepped aside. Alexi said nothing.

 

Colin bowed slightly, "A pleasure, Master Alexi."

 

"Are we to Bind now?"

 

"If you would like, I would suggest it because..." Nikolai was cut off. Alexi already rolled up his sleeve.

 

"Yes, do it now." Alexi ordered. Nikolai raised an eyebrow and motioned for Colin to come forward.

 

"Expose your wrist, Steward," the Sorcerer instructed. Colin did. Alexi thrust out his palm upward, Colin gently put his hand atop Alexi's. It was soft. "Now, look upon each other and clear your mind." Nikolai brought his gloved hands above their own. He nodded to Alexi, who spoke loudly, confidently.

 

"Rust is my Mother, my Father, my Brother, my Sister..."

 

"Rust is my safety, my savior, my redemption..." Colin followed.

 

Colin felt the tug of the Bind on his mind, connecting to Alexi, someone he barely knew.

 

"Rust is my sword, my shield, my spell..." Alexi stared deeply into Colin.

 

"Rust is my mind, my script, my knowledge..."

 

"For Rust I shall never rest until She smiles upon me..."

 

"For Rust I shall slay my foe..." Colin spoke.

 

"For Rust I shall die and forever drift as her Son." Alexi spoke, his words echoed loudly.

 

"For Rust I bind thee, servant, master." Nikolai finished. Alexi pulled his hand away first.

 

"Hmm... well...." Nikolai turned to leave, "I need to attend to father, I will leave you to your own devices." He shot a beaming smile at Colin, "Welcome."

 

Nikolai was gone and Colin felt vulnerable. "Come." Alexi's voice felt powerful, a reaction of the Binding. Whatever Alexi willed, Colin was required to follow. If not, then death.

 

Alexi turned and Colin followed the Third Son of Saron through the black halls of the Tower. The corridors were littered with expensive tapestries, furniture, statues of elder family members.

 

"You could not have come at a worse time, Steward," Alexi growled. Colin followed closely, at his heels.

 

"Well I was..." Alexi stopped abruptly, a hand lashed out, smashing across Colin's face. Colin recoiled in pain, moisture leaked from his noise. Lifting his fingers to his nostrils he could only feel a trickle of blood. He stared in horror at Alexi, Heather had never done anything like this.

 

"Do not speak out of turn. Killing yet another Steward would be tiresome." Alexi glared at Colin.

 

"Doubtful..." Colin muttered, standing up.

 

"What did you say?" Alexi growled.

 

"Nothing, Master. I was merely taken back by your actions."

 

"Actions? Whom were you bound to previously? A ninny?"

 

"Heather Kepslin. She was a kind woman." Colin nodded, Alexi burst into wicked laughter.

 

"A Kepslin. No wonder. Under my order you shall... how do they say... man up." He continued to laugh, motioning for Colin to follow. Blood still dripped from Colin's nose, Alexi offered him nothing. Duty came above all else. Colin could say nothing, for it was law.

 

They rode an elevator in silence. Colin lost count of the floors until they slowed to halt. The doors opened to a lavish penthouse, a room Colin’s surmised to be Alexi’s. A Dredger appeared from thin air, as they usually did. Their creed was to remain silent, nothing more. She was young, her dark skin tone made her beautiful. The large bruise under her eye only affirmed to Colin that Alexi was abusive.

 

"Find him a rag to clean his face, now. " She curtsied and shuffled off, returning a few moments later with a cloth. Colin took it with a smile and dabbed his nose. Alexi watched wordlessly.

 

"Thank you." Colin handed the cloth back to the Dredger. She curtsied, her face still holding the same expression. Empty.

 

"Do not speak to her," Alexi added.

 

"Why?" Colin met Alexi's eyes. They did battle. Alexi was annoyed.

 

"She is not yours, she is mine. I don't remember requesting a Steward with a mouth, or a penchant for asking questions?"

 

"Well, I did not sign up to protect someone like you.”

 

"What?" Alexi face became flushed, enraged. "How dare you!"

 

"Alexi!" The elevator doors behind Colin opened. Nikolai swirled through. "Brother, come, we must speak. It is of great importance." The Sorcerer looked to Colin and stopped suddenly, frowning. "Hmmm..." He looked to the Dredger and let out a sigh. The Sorcerer moved forward to cup the woman's face for a moment, running a gloved thumb over her bruise. He smiled to her secretly, turning as he snatched Alexi by the ear and dragged the cursing youth into a room. The door closed.

 

 

Colin stood in silence. The Dredger woman also stood, looking at the door. What was she thinking?

 

"Does he hit you?" Colin asked. She looked to him, confused. Did she speak their language? Colin knew that Saron was infamous for treating Dredgers improperly. It was the cardinal reason that Orleons was at war with Saron. Some denizens of Rust wanted Dredgers to be removed, back to where they came from. There was no need to spend countless dollars on raiding parties to steal the dark skinned peoples. It felt wrong to him, it was not supposed to be this way.

 

The Dredger nodded slowly.

 

"I am sorry." Colin whispered. The woman simply stared at Colin, then back to the door. His nose hurt. However, he stood silently; staring at nothing, as most Stewards did.

 

Something caught his eye, though. The bruise was gone from the Dredger’s face. She wandered off as Alexi and Nikolai emerged from their private meeting.

 

Nikolai tossed Colin a smile, "Now, Alexi, remember to be on time. Father will not be present but your brothers shall, as will mother." Colin noticed Alexi was brighter. He nodded with vigor.

 

"I shall." Alexi said. Nikolai departed.

 

"Do you drink, Steward?" Alexi asked.

 

"No, Master Alexi." Colin replied.

 

"Ah, well, I wasn't going to offer you one anyways." The blonde Saron wandered to a glass liquor cabinet and began to fashion himself something potent.

 

"Are you celebrating something, Master?" Colin asked, idly. Silence was boring.

 

"I am, Steward. My ascension to High Father!" He took a generous swig of the mahogany-colored liquid. It burned. Alexi shook his head violently. "Ahh... perfect.”

 

"Should I bow?" Colin snorted.

 

"You know, if I had not gotten that news, I would have you killed for your constant back talk. However, I shall let it slide.” Alexi began to pour more.

 

"I appreciate your mercy, Master Alexi. However, isn't your youth a card that shall be played against you for the seat of High Father?" Colin asked.

 

"Tonight, we must attend a dinner,” Alexi informed him, ignoring the question. “Important things shall be discussed. However, Orleons enjoys disrupting such things. Attempting to kill at least one of us, so, protect well, yes?" Alexi looked to Colin, the Steward noticed the look in his eyes. The Third Son of Saron wanted reassurance that he would be safe. "And yes... I'm sure my age will be a factor. My insufferable brothers are also the apple of my father’s eye and removing them would only cause extended...drama.” The Saron heir sighed.

 

Colin fantasized briefly of Alexi ripped apart by an Orleons thug.

 

"Of course, Master, of course..." Colin bowed his head slightly. Alexi finished his second drink.

 

"I am retiring to my chambers for a time. Wake me as the hour draws closer to supper..." Alexi began to disrobe right there. Colin raised his eyebrow as the half-naked Saron glided out of his view.

 

Something in Colin's mind wanted him to follow Alexi. Was that the magic of the Binding? Was Alexi doing that? Then it faded as quickly as it came.

 

"As you say....Master..."