If not for his skill constantly tugging him toward Konrad, Damian might’ve struggled to find his way back to the mist house. He hadn’t paid much attention when he’d left, and now, in the dark, the place looked completely different. The few windows it had glowed with blue light, and music thrummed through the walls, spilling out into the wharf.

  Damian stared through the entrance archway, taking a steadying breath. He told himself he could do this—that it wasn’t a big deal. He’d been through worse. Much worse. Squaring his shoulders, he plunged back into the mayhem inside.

  What had begun as a quiet lounge of reclining patrons had transformed into a living, sweating organism. The open floors were packed with dancers, and in the half hour he’d been gone, Damian was certain another [Bard] had joined the first judging by how the music pulsed and shifted. Everywhere he looked, people spun with loose limbs and wide eyes, smiling at some personal specter only they could see. It was chaos.

  Damian ignored them, watching just enough to dodge and weave. For a while, he struggled to push through the crowd, smaller than most of the patrons around him. Despite not really wanting to, he realized the best way forward was to let [Call To Revel] wash over him again. He let the skill seize his body, guiding his movements to twist and flow with the dancers.

  Once he gave in to the invisible rhythm guiding the revel, he could’ve moved with his eyes closed. His path wasn’t straight, pausing now and then to dance with strangers, but it felt as natural as breathing. Despite his efforts to stay focused, Damian quickly found himself swept up again, losing himself to the heartbeat of the crowd.

  “Damian?” a voice called, breaking through his revelry.

  Damian opened his eyes, realizing only then that he’d closed them. He looked around and spotted Konrad sitting beside one of the mist contraptions, surrounded by patrons who gazed at him like a divine presence. When Konrad stood, dozens of eyes followed him as he crossed toward Damian.

  “You came back,” Konrad said, smiling a little uncertainly. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Damian said sharply, hoping his eyes weren’t still red from crying. “If I try your—Saint’s Breath, will you actually talk to me about being [The Chosen One] and your quest?”

  Konrad’s grin faltered. “I don’t—Damian, that’s really not the point.”

  “Then what is?” Damian pressed. “What do I have to do? You want me to try your thing—okay fine, I’ll try it. But then you try mine. My thing is talking about not dying. Think you can handle that?”

  For the first time since Damian had met him, Konrad looked uncomfortable. Not angry, not annoyed, but uneasy. He rubbed his elbow with the opposite hand, avoiding Damian’s gaze. “You don’t have to try it. It’s not allat. Maybe it’s not your thing.”

  “It’s not,” Damian agreed. “But if you need me to try your thing before you’ll take me seriously, I get it. Fair’s fair. Okay?”

  Konrad hesitated, and for a moment Damian wondered if he’d misjudged him. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay. If you really want to.”

  “Yeah,” Damian said quickly. “Let’s do it.”

  After a moment, Konrad ushered Damian back toward the mist contraption and its circle of patrons, convincing someone nearby to clear a cushion. Anxiety made Damian’s hands shake, and he forced himself to sit still, squeezing one hand with his other. He was glad to sit, it helped with the shakes and the nausea and the tightness in his chest.

  Konrad nudged him, offering a vial of Saint’s Breath. Damian reached for it, but before he could take it, Konrad caught his hand, his finger specifically, and pressed it to the bottle’s mouth. Upending it, Konrad twisted Damian’s hand in one smooth motion, holding it there before turning it upright again. When he pulled the bottle away, a single drop of shimmering oil clung to Damian’s fingertip.

  Damian held it up to his face, eyes crossing as he studied the drop. He glanced at Konrad, who watched him with a neutral expression. Before he could lose his nerve, Damian slipped his finger into his mouth, pressing it to his tongue.

  To his surprise, it barely had a taste—earthy, faint, almost nothing at all. He sat waiting for a reaction, but after a dozen heartbeats, nothing happened.

  He pulled his finger from his mouth and frowned. Everyone else’s reactions had been instant and very obvious. Was it not working for him? Had he not taken enough?

  “Damian?” asked a strange, melodic voice.

  He turned to Konrad and froze. Konrad was wrapped in wisps of light, as if glowing strands of thread coiled around his head and body. From his eyes, two beams of white light flared outward, and when he spoke, that same light poured from his mouth, spilling down his chin and staining his shirt.

  Damian tried to speak, to ask what was happening—but when he breathed out the air in his throat ignited like fire. His tongue, mouth, and throat tingled with the touch of a thousand tiny feathers. It was hot and cold, stinging and soft, all at once. Somehow, it wasn’t painful, just overwhelming. It was too much sensation, like all the feelings he could feel were all being felt all at once. Each exhale renewed the experience, effervescent and sharp, like the most perfectly carbonated mead he’d ever tasted running down his throat.

  Without thinking about it, Damian giggled.

  “Yeah?” Konrad asked, leaning in.

  Instinctively, Damian leaned back, still unsettled by the strange lightshow Konrad had become. But when he leaned closer again, the beams from Konrad’s eyes passed over his hand, and his skin tingled, like gentle fingertips brushing his palm. With trembling fingers, he reached out, touching the light spilling from Konrad’s eyes. It ran through his hands like water floating through the air, setting his nerves alight with impossible sensation.

  Konrad chuckled, and liquid light bubbled from his lips, dribbling down his chin and staining his skin. Without thinking, Damian reached out; his fingers brushed Konrad’s cheek and tracing down to his glowing lips. It felt like a dream, but he was wide awake.

  “You’re glowing,” Damian murmured.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “You too,” Konrad replied, gently taking Damian’s hand and pulling it away from his face. Damian grunted in mild annoyance—his skin had been so soft. “Told you it was interesting. Give it a few minutes to settle in, then maybe we’ll take a walk. You can try dancing again. Oh and drinking water. Trust me, you’re going to love drinking water.”

  “I am?” Damian asked dreamily. Even his voice sounded different. It was warbly and ethereal. If Konrad had told him to push a knife through the back of his hand, he might have done it without hesitation.

  Only then did he look around and realize the same light coming from Konrad was everywhere. It dripped from the ceiling, bubbled between the floorboards, and trailed from the luminous creatures dancing above their heads. Damian’s eyes went wide as saucers as he tried to take it all in, but there was too much. It was too beautiful, too bright. A moment later, Konrad helped him to his feet, and together they drifted into the dancing crowd, Damian’s legs trembling even as a strange calm settled over him.

  As they moved, Damian’s hands trailed through threads of light that painted his skin with tingling warmth. He watched a woman dance, her long hair whipping around and scattering sparks, and for some reason the sight made him laugh uncontrollably. At some point, Konrad handed him a rough leather bag, its texture scraping against his fingertips so sharply he nearly dropped it.

  It took him a moment to realize it was only a waterskin.

  When he lifted it to his lips, the water was colder than anything he’d ever tasted. Crisp, pure, fresher than a mountain spring. It settled heavy in his gut, sloshing and tugging at him until he swayed with it, laughing at the absurdity of the sensation. Before he knew it, he was dancing again—first with Konrad, then a woman he didn’t recognize, then a man, and finally the woman with strands of light for hair.

  Moments blurred together, and suddenly he was eating again. It wasn’t like the bazaar, when he’d gone under for long stretches. This time, it was as if his memory lagged behind his body. He was always catching up, chasing the present through the haze of glorious light flooding the room.

  Every few minutes Konrad would come check on him, usually with something new to nibble on, or someone new to introduce him to.

  Some small part of Damian was terrified—petrified by how little control he seemed to have. When he wanted to do something, he simply did it. There was no resistance to impulse, and that mortified him. But when the little voice of reason screamed, only birdsong came out. Then a strange scent caught his attention, and he turned toward it.

  Damian’s nose led him to a large man dancing with a diminutive woman, the one with the glowing hair. She seemed popular. Matching the heartbeat of the revel, Damian slipped through the crowd of twining limbs until he fell into their rhythm. They noticed him, and within a few beats he was part of their dance. Slowly, he drifted closer to the man, took his hand, and let himself be spun in.

  He buried his face against the man’s chest and inhaled sharply. The scent of some strange spice singed his nostrils and tickled his lungs—a new, wonderful sensation. Cinnamon, juniper berries, and dill. Damian’s head lolled back as he reeled from the intensity, then leaned in again for another breath.

  A hand closed around his chin, tilting his head upward. The man’s face was large and blockish, with crooked teeth and thick black brows. Not that Damian was a reliable judge of anything right now, but he guessed the man was twice his age and a foot taller. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, the sound of someone used to rough living.

  “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

  “You smell good,” Damian muttered, barely hearing what the man was saying.

  “Ya think so?” the man asked, flashing a crooked grin. Damian didn’t like his smile—there was no light in it. “Why don’t we find somewhere quieter, so you can get a better taste?”

  Tiny alarm bells went off in Damian’s head, but they were drowned out by the pulse of music and the room’s heavy breath. “Nooo... I’ve gotta ask my friend first. Where’s Konrad?”

  “Your friend left,” the man said, not even glancing around to check.

  Damian blinked. Was that true? When had he last seen Konrad? Minutes ago? Hours? Was it morning already? It was impossible to tell in the mist house now turned a dim, delirious party palace.

  “Really?” Damian asked, tears pricking his eyes. “He left me?”

  “Oh yeah,” the man said with a wicked smirk. “But don’t worry little thing, I’ll take care of you.”

  The man’s hand tightened on Damian’s chin. He winced, trying to pull away, but he couldn’t. “You will?”

  “Absolutely,” the man said smoothly. “Why don’t we—”

  A hand closed around the man’s wrist, and Damian’s eyes slid to the side to find Konrad’s face inches from his own. But he wasn’t looking at Damian, his eyes were locked on the large man Damian had been dancing with. The light pouring from Konrad’s eyes was harsh and burning. “Let go of him.”

  The man did, and Damian tried to step back, but the man’s hand snapped around his wrist instead.

  “Hey, he came up to me,” the man barked, his tone suddenly hard. “Ain’t hurting nobody. Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?”

  “He is my business,” Konrad hissed. “Now fuck off before I feed you your teeth.”

  Konrad shoved the man, and Damian yelped as he was yanked along by the wrist. Then everything happened at once. The man tried to pull Damian toward him, and Konrad moved like a coiled serpent striking. It was too fast to process: limbs blurring, faces twisting into snarls, and then a hair-covered forearm slammed into the bridge of Damian’s nose.

  Damian didn’t remember falling—only the sudden awareness of being on the floor, his skull throbbing where it must’ve struck the boards. He knew he should’ve hurt a lot more, but all he felt was a dull ache. Still, tears streamed down his face as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, sobbing like he could feel it all.

  The crowd had pulled back, forming a ring around them. Konrad and the man were locked together, and the man was winning. His forearm clamped around Konrad’s neck, veins bulging as he tried to squeeze the life out of him. Konrad struggled for a heartbeat, then dropped his weight, drawing the man forward. With a sudden surge, he exploded upward, lifting the man over his head and slamming him down with a thunderous crash.

  The man sprawled on the floor, dazed—but Konrad didn’t hesitate. His boot came down with a sickening crunch that made Damian flinch, and the man screamed as blood poured from his nose. Konrad spat on him, then looked up at the crowd.

  He raised his hands and waved at them at the crowd. “Carry on, sorry for the trouble. [No Big Deal].”

  Despite the moment, Damian couldn’t help giggle. What a stupid skill. What did [No Big Deal] even do? And why did Konrad have it in the first place? He must’ve messed something up big time to need an entire skill just to smooth over his screwups.

  As the party started up again, Konrad looked down at him—concern flashing across his face as he hurried over and knelt beside him. “Hey, hey. You okay?”

  “Dunno,” Damian said, still feeling strangely giddy. “Hit my head. Can’t feel it. Is that normal?”

  “Yeah, that’s normal,” Konrad said, though he looked worried. “Okay, I don’t want to sober you up. That might be... a lot right now. We should get you checked out. Think you can walk?”

  Damian giggled again. Walk? Of course he could walk. Walking was easy.

  Time slipped again, and suddenly Damian was outside. The tall buildings of downtown drifted past him. The only one that wasn’t moving was the massive monolith that was the Grand Cathedral, its gargantuan presence towering over the city. No wait, that didn’t make sense. The buildings weren’t moving; he was. But he wasn’t walking.

  Then he realized Konrad was carrying him. He looked up at Konrad’s sharp chin and blond hair and realized he wasn’t glowing anymore. Also, his head fucking hurt. Maybe the Saint’s Breath was wearing off.

  “Where’re we going?” Damian asked.

  “The hospital,” Konrad said without looking down. “You hit your head, it’s best if they take a look.”

  “I’ve got healing potions,” Damian offered.

  Konrad sighed. “Yeah, I know, you said. But with head injuries and drugs, it’s... just better if they check. We’re almost there, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Damian had no idea what Konrad was talking about, but he felt safe in his arms, and that was good enough.