Nightsea Outlaw

Jean trudged through the snow to the southeast of the keep, following the path he was meant to find easily. Fate seemed ready to guide him to the distant tower as a long stone bridge shot out of the mountain toward the tower's shadow in the distance. Jean smiled, sending a jet of steam out of his scarf and across his goggles as he walked. He looked at the ruins with the eyes of a scholar, noting everything he saw and how it matched up to Firril's descriptions.

A series of stone structures connected the faraway towers to the central peak from the top of the plateau and across the ranges of mountains around the larger mountain. According to Firril, they were all part of an older system, with the three towers serving different functions for the abandoned kingdom. The towers were defensive structures for the three main villages surrounding the peak. To the north were the forests, whose lumber was transported to the mines to build structures. To the southwest were the fields, which supplied the island with food stores. Finally, in his direction were the ranges, which were unsuitable for crops but great for sheep and goats. Together, the three areas contributed to the central keep and allowed the kingdom to thrive.

That was before the aetherstorm hit.

The bridges were crumbling, and the path was covered in heavy snow. Black marks showed where lightning had burned the structures several times during the decades that the aetherstorm had raged over the island. Jean sighed and opened his gate. Dark energy welled inside of him, wrapping out from his heart like tendrils across his skeletal body. He released Eliza from her slumber and sent her flying forward through the falling snow and down the length of the bridge.

Her form shot through walls and the occasional pavilion across the bridge before looping in a wide arc back to him and wrapping around his shoulders. She was a skeletal spirit, almost as much bones as he was. Only her long white hair remained from what she had once been, but to Jean she was beautiful still.

He really only wanted some company for the road.

"Such a winter land of wonder," Jean said, touching one of Eliza's arms with his gloved hand. "It reminds me of our time together on November."

Eliza said nothing in return, but he could feel a connection as she stared at him with hollow black eyes. Jean smiled as he thought about walking through the streets dressed in furs and of their dances in the winter festivals underneath the falling snow.

"You don't know how much I miss your touch," he whispered to Eliza as he started across the stone bridge. "I hope soon that we will be able to hold hands again and truly be able to dance again. I want to feel your warmth in my arms again."

Jean let out a warm spray of mist through his scarf as he let go of the tension he didn't know he was holding in. One thing he didn't have much time to think about was the doubt he carried with him. He had grown stronger to be with Eliza again, but there was an uncertainty in his curse. Was he truly Jean, and was she truly Eliza?

After a misunderstanding with his best friend, he died, stabbed in the back when he least suspected it. The last thing he knew was the piercing pain in his spine as the dagger found its purchase. When he woke up, Eliza was in his arms, and his best friend was dead on the ground in a pool of blood. He looked down at his hands. Beneath the gloves, they were just bones. Except for his head, he was a skeleton, not that different from Eliza's spiritual form. His curse gave him the power to manipulate, control, and bend spirits to his will.

But what was he in the end?

"What do you think, Eliza?" Jean asked. "What defines a man? What makes a person human? Am I the same man who died ten years ago on the floor, or am I some shade shambling around in his place with his memories?"

She didn't speak because she couldn't. Jean's heart moved inside of him as if she could feel her chastizing him yet again. He was not so far gone that he couldn't remember her voice. He knew precisely what Eliza would say to him.

"Don't you go thinking on those things." She would wag her finger at him. "You're a scholar, but that doesn't mean you have to go questioning everything about everything. Live in the moment. Enjoy this moment. That's what matters most of all."

He was more likely to accept that than anything else in his undeath. That was the driving idea he was ready to carry forward: Live in the moment, don't ask so many questions, enjoy what you have, and don't question it unless you have to. It went against his nature but was better than the alternative for now.

"Fine, fine," he said, smiling at her as he looked ahead across the bridge. "I'll keep these questions to myself for now to avoid ruining our stroll. But I don't guarantee I won't return to them in time. Some questions burn to be answered, even if the answer doesn't make a man happy."

The bridge arched up and down between smaller mountain peaks as it led the way toward the tower. In Jean's eyes, it was truly a remarkable construction, reminding him of the architecture of April, which was also a very mountainous island. Thanks to his body's nature, it was an enjoyable walk all the same.

Finally, he came upon the tower, the grey stone structure rising high to meet the bridge before ascending to even greater heights in the heavens above. Jean slowed as he approached, noticing that the snow in front of him was thinning out as if it had been cleared away from the footsteps of heavy traffic.

He was not alone on the bridge.

Crack-boom.

Purple lightning struck across the sky, lighting the clouded area with a flash before dimming again to the faded, dull grey of the snowy day. A man with a wide-brimmed brown hat stood across from Jean on the bridge, a spear in his hand and wearing a tattered brown cloak. Jean furred his eyebrows as he looked closer and realized that wasn't quite right. A machine stood on the bridge across from him, guarding the entrance to the tower with two circular red eyes that never blinked.

"I take it you shall be my fated partner for this dance." Jean smiled as he unbuttoned his heavy coat and let it flow in the wind. "I know you are a machine already, but do you speak?"

The machine leaned forward, taking its spear in both hands, turning to the side, and pointing the spear directly at Jean. That answered his question more than anything else. This guardian would not let him pass so long as he wanted to go to the tower beyond.

"A silent dancing partner is no fun." Jean sighed. "So let me provide my own for the first part. Spirit Swing."

Eliza, who would have been invisible to all eyes but his own before, swirled into sight in a fiery funnel of purple flame around him. Her long white hair wrapped around his shoulders as she rested her arms across his neck in a hug from behind.

"This is my wife, Eliza," Jean said, holding out one hand and letting Eliza put her own on top of it. "We will show you our dance. Are you prepared?"

Click-ksh.

The machine charged forward without a second thought, blurring faster than any man could move while thrusting with its spear. Jean blinked. If he was a second too late, he would be skewered on the tip of that spear. It would be a terrifying thought if he had any organs to skewer.

Ting.

The spear tip met bone with shattering force, and Jean felt the crackle of his bones as the spear tip crashed into his ribcage. However, only cracks would result from the strike. Jean grunted but stood his ground as the machine's momentum slowed, and it stood with the spear stuck into his chest.

"I just want you to know," Jean said, shaking his head as he looked at the machine in its red eyes. "That was very rude."

He had a better look at the machine's head now, beneath the brim of its hat. It had a blank grey face aside from its eyes. There was no attempt to give it a nose or mouth. It was built to fight and nothing else. Jean pitied it for a moment.

Then he struck back.

"Spirit Battement," he said as he kicked back away from the spear and swung Eliza out from the length of his arm.

Thump. Thump.

She twirled away from him, extending her body outward as a long, skeletal leg grew out from her body. It blurred in a flurry of motion, snapping in the air with fast, precise kicks that struck at the machine's chest. Two strikes hit solidly on the machine's chest, throwing it back through the air and toward the tower.

Crick. Crack.

The machine pushed down in the snow to halt its movements, balancing after a moment's hesitation and bringing the spear forward again. Jean smiled. It wasn't going to be a pushover. Perhaps he would get some challenge out of it.

Click-ksh.

The machine leaned forward again as Jean brought Eliza back into his arms. He spotted the small spout of steam that gushed out from its legs as it charged, thrusting its spear forward again. This time, it didn't target Jean's chest, but he saw it coming for his head.

"Spirit Step."

The spear met air as he disappeared, reappearing behind the machine and spinning around with Eliza a second time. Jean was about to call on Eliza to do a second kick when the machine did something unexpected.

Crack-ksh.

It spun on its torso, something no man could accomplish, swinging the spear in an arc toward Eliza even as Jean spun her down his arm to kick at its body. Jean stepped forward, raising a hand above Eliza as he changed strategy.

"Spirit Pirouette!"

Whoosh.

Instead of coming out in a kick, Eliza spun in place like a top, going faster and faster as the spear approached, her leg extending out in not a kick but a whirlwind. The spear met spirit as it hit the tornado that his love had become, and the spear broke.

Crack.

If it had stopped there, the machine would have been disarmed but not beaten. So, Jean did not stop there. Faster and faster, Eliza spun until her wind drew in not only the machine but himself as well. Only his arm kept him from succumbing to the whirlwind. The machine was not so lucky.

Thump. Bang. Thump. Crack. Thump. Krsh.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the machine was torn to shreds underneath Eliza's assault. Like Jean, she wasn't just bones. Unlike Jean, she was a spiritual creature who could hit harder than steel and was closer to a weapon than anything else in terms of power. The machine's body stood no chance as it was torn to bits until only the head with its staring red eyes remained.

Jean knelt in the snow after it was over, Eliza resting around his shoulders again. The fight was done, no matter how short it had been. He hadn't been pushed to his limits, but that was alright. It was good to have easy fights from time to time.

"It was your fate to lose to me, machine," Jean said. "But do not mourn for it. I am merely a sign that your long watch is over. Rest while I go to deactivate this tower and bring the machinations of fate to fruition."

He stood and stepped away, walking toward the tower, ready to do his part in the plan. All in all, it was too easy. What he needed was a challenge. The tower loomed above him, and Jean stepped through the door.