Ashes of the Elite-Chapter 36: Garrison

The sun has practically dipped below the horizon and I find myself still wandering the city streets. The chill in the air bites sharper than I expected being this close to the sea and the incoming winter months have made the nights recently pretty cold in Lont. I tug my robe tighter around my shoulders and grumble under my breath. Would it really have been so hard for these damn robes to come with a hood, like the inquisitors'?

I don't even know where I'm going. My feet carry me aimlessly, each street blending into the next, stone buildings giving way to winding alleys and busy squares until, suddenly, I realize with a start that I've been walking for over three hours. The streets have changed. More familiar. I glance up and curse under my breath when I realize I'm near Cain's estate.

"Perfect," I mutter dryly. "Hope Cain doesn't check to see if I'm back tonight."

So much for turning in early. No way I'll be back at the castle at a decent hour now. Goodbye, good night's sleep.

I keep walking anyway heading towards the place I know best, my pace slowing as the cobbled streets give way to packed dirt, and then broken stone. The polished elegance of the city fades behind me, replaced by the raw, harsh edges of a place I know too well.

The outskirts.

I slip into the shadows by instinct, keeping to the crumbling walls and dark corners. It's almost second nature. I don't belong here anymore, but muscle memory doesn't care. I also rather not be seen by any of the dwellers here those fuckers are insane at least most of them.

I pause behind a gate and watch as a group of men and women surround someone smaller, their fists and feet doing the talking. No words are exchanged. Just dull, wet thuds and a single cry that's quickly muffled. When they scatter, they leave with nothing but a tattered blanket clutched like treasure. A rag, really. Such unnecessary violence.

That was life, not even a year ago.

I exhale through my nose, tension knotting in my chest, and press deeper into the maze of broken streets. My feet know where they're going even if I try to pretend I don't. Eventually, I find myself standing in front of a small, half-collapsed building tucked behind other rotted structures on the eastern edge of the outskirts.

My old hiding place.

I slide through the half-hinged door, ducking beneath broken beams. The moment I step inside, the stench hits me like a hammer. Rot, piss, mold, old blood. My heightened senses gag on it, and I slap a hand over my mouth.

Did I really live in this filth?

I force myself to breathe shallowly until the stench becomes background noise. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I take in the warped beams and blackened mold creeping up the walls. But then... something feels off.

This wasn't how I left it.

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My place — if you could call it that — was filthy, sure, but not like this. I kept it as clean as a half-starving teenager could. This rot feels new. And then I see them.

Two small figures, huddled near the base of the sagging stairs. A boy and a girl — maybe seven or eight. They stare at me with wide, terrified eyes, frozen like cornered animals.

I gape at them, stunned.

Before I can say anything, a woman's voice calls from the other room. "What's wrong, Dina? Carlos?"

Footsteps.

Then she appears — older, gaunt but not broken, wearing ragged clothes patched too many times. Her gaze falls on me, taking in the violet of my eyes, the fine Elite robe draped around my shoulders. Her face goes pale.

Her mouth works for a second before she manages, "W-what would an Elite be doing in my house?"

I swallow, my throat dry.

"I... used to live here," I say quietly, the words sounding strange even to me. "Sorry for intruding."

I spin and exit before she can respond, heart racing, and slip out the broken door as fast as I can without running.

Gods. I didn't expect that. I rush out of the outskirts, heart pounding faster than my feet hitting the cracked stone streets. I slip around corners, duck under broken archways, and skirt around groups of half-drunk men and shine addicts lying in heaps, shivering and muttering to themselves. I know this place like the back of my hand every shortcut, every alley but it feels foreign now.

I'm not one of them anymore.

I used to be that scrawny kid who stole scraps and clothes just to see another day.

But now... even these people look at me and see someone else entirely. An Elite.

I'm not starving anymore. I'm not hiding. I'm something they can't even recognize. Someone I cant recognize at times.

I slow down only when the outskirts fall behind me and the wealthier stone streets rise up again beneath my boots. Lanterns flicker here, warm and golden, and I'm not just passing through these streets anymore — I belong here.

And for the first time, I admit it to myself.

I like it.

I like the power, the food, the baths, the comfort. I like training with Cain. I like sparring with Howard. Hell, I even like wearing these stupid robes that make me feel important and not just some sewer rat. I'm not surviving anymore. I could actually live.

I hate that she's the one who said it... but godsdamn it, maybe she's right.

My feet move before my brain catches up. I'm already turning down the main road my destination clear.

The Garrison.

The same stone fortress they held me at months ago in chains, branding me a poisoner for burglarizing houses. But now, it's the only place I know she might be. The Inquisitors are stationed there, along with most of the city's guard save for same barracks scattered throughout the city. Hopefully I'm lucky.

It takes me about thirty minutes of half-jogging through the winding streets before the looming silhouette of the Garrison finally comes into view. The massive stone fortress stands like a monolith against the night sky — not nearly as grand as the castle, but large enough to house a few hundred soldiers, inquisitors, and whatever else the the Count and his council decides to stuff inside I guess.

The streets are quiet this late, not quite midnight but close enough that most honest folk are in bed. The only sounds are the faint clink of distant patrols and the whistle of the wind between stone buildings.

I stop at the gates.

Two guards stand there, straightening quickly at the sight of me. Their Corinthian helms gleam under the torches, black feather plumes shivering with the wind as they snap to attention, though I can see the confusion on their faces.

"Identify yourself," one of them says sharply.

I almost laugh.

I straighten my posture, letting the arrogance flow naturally as I sneer, "I'm an Elite... on business."

They hesitate.

I feel the smooth weight of a small rock in my palm I had picked up before arriving. Perfect.

I focus focusing on my hate, then I will the voices to obey. Show them what they need to see.

The whispers giggle, eager and delighted to be called on.

As you wishhh

The rock shifts in my hand, reality bending as the illusion wraps around it, solid and real as any artifact. The imperial seal glows faintly in the torchlight the same one Cain showed to the guards when we arrived at castle Ravenstone.

The guards freeze studying it. Then, like the predicable puppets they are, they both bow their heads in deference.

"Forgive us Awakened but its protocol," one of them says

I don't respond. Just stride past them, each step echoing along the stone path leading up to the massive oak doors.

The inside of the garrison is... quiet. Almost eerily so. Stone hallways stretch out in every direction, torches flickering lazily, their light casting long shadows. My footsteps echo in the silence, the sound of my boots tapping against the floor the only noise for several long minutes.

Eventually, I turn a corner and stumble on what I'm looking for — or at least, close enough.

Two inquisitors and three regular guards sit around a worn wooden table, cards in their hands, half-empty tankards nearby. They're laughing, mid-conversation, until I step into the room.

Everything stops.

Five pairs of eyes lock on me, all confusion and suspicion.

I force down the nerves crawling up my throat and straighten my back, channeling every ounce of Cain's presence, that effortless authority he carries like second nature. I let the words roll off my tongue, cold and commanding.

"I am Awakened Ayato Daath," I announce, my voice firm and leaving no room for question. "I'm here seeking an inquisitor and require assistance in finding her."

For a second, they just stare their eyes traveling up my body taking in my robe and violet eyes.

Then comically —they scramble up from their seats, chairs screeching against the floor as they snap to attention, nodding their heads in deference, though I can still see confusion in their eyes.

One of the inquisitors narrows his eyes. "Wait... Awakened, did you say Daath? As in... the three-mark bearer?"

I let a small, cold smile touch my lips. "Indeed."

The change is immediate. The inquisitors exchange glances, their confusion melting into excitement The two regular guards are still completely lost I guess not as familiar with the rumors of me, but when they hear three marks, their jaws drop.

I roll my eyes. Of course, they're all gawking. "I only need one of you to guide me," I say flatly, letting some irritation bleed into my tone. "Preferably someone who knows a Cecilia Lakeborn."

One of the guards hastily shakes his head. "I—I don't, sir." His words trip over themselves, and I can feel the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. He's clearly eager to have nothing to do with whatever business I have this late at night. Smart but not necessary. I smirk.

The two inquisitors share a quick look — concern flickering between them — but after a brief pause, one of them steps forward. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with short-cropped brown hair and a nasty scare on his neck. His expression smooths into respect, though there's still a flicker of worry beneath it.

"Of course, Lord Daath," he says with a small bow. "We know of Sister Cecilia. She should be in her quarters in the female corridor. Please — follow me. I will guide you."

I nod curtly, and he quickly moves out of the room, his boots clicking down the stone hallway. I fall into step behind him, the silence stretching between us for a few long moments before he finally speaks.

"I am Inquisitor Talren Voss," he says, his tone barely professional tinged with excitement like this moment of him meeting me will be something he tells people about for years and the more I think about it he probably will like a freak.

I don't respond.

After a few more steps, his curiosity gets the better of him. He clears his throat and asks, carefully, "Forgive me, Lord Daath... but may I ask what business brings you to Sister Cecilia this late?"

I scowl. The sheer audacity. "None of your business," I say coldly. "It's personal."

Talren stiffens at my tone, but he nods quickly. His concern for his fellow inquisitor is clearly there, but the chance to be walking alongside the three-mark bearer outweighs everything else. We walk in silence after that. The garrison corridors grow warmer, lit by soft golden lanterns that make the stone walls glow faintly. Eventually, we turn a corner, Talren gestures ahead with a small incline of his head. "Her room is the fourth door down on the left." He turns to me. "I will wait here for your return, my lord, and guide you out."

I glance back at him, keeping my voice cold and detached. "No need. I remember the way."

He bows his head again. "As you command"

I draw in a breath, steady myself, and start walking toward that fourth door.

I walk down the corridor slowly, each step heavier than the last. My pulse starts to pick up — rapid, uneven. It finally hits me what the hell I'm doing. What am I doing?

I should turn around. I should go back its already late as hell and I'm still hours away maybe an hour and half if I sprint the entire way from the castle and I have training in a few hours with Cain.

But before I can convince myself to leave, my hand moves on its own and— knock knock knock.

I freeze. My eyes dart to my hand, still resting on the wood like it has a mind of its own.

A muffled curse sounds from the other side of the door. I hear the rustling of sheets and the shuffle of bare feet on carpet.

The door creaks open slowly.

And there she is.

Cecilia stands in the doorway, half-awake, her hair a rumpled mess. She's wearing a thin nightgown that clings softly to her figure, and her beautiful cruel hazel eyes widen in pure shock as they land on me.

"Ayato...?" she breathes, blinking the sleep rapidly from her eyes. "Ayato — what — Ayato???, It's so late... what are you doing here? How are you here?"

Then she glances down at herself. Her face flushes crimson so fast I almost laugh.

She grabs the edge of her sleeve, pulling it tighter against her arm, looking utterly flustered and confused. Oh how the roles have been reversed. I can't help but think how cute she looks right now.

I sigh. My nerves are a mess. "Can I come in?"

She blinks a few more times before finally stammering out, "Y-yes! Of course! Please."

She steps aside quickly, her face still burning red as I step past her into the room.