Sereth walked out of his room, eyes heavy. He was feeling a different kind of stress, so calling it that would be wrong, the better term would be dread.
The memory of the ridge, the voice, the feeling of being seen through and picked apart — it hadn't left him. If anything, it was sharper now, echoing with each step he took through the city streets.
He needed some distraction so he figured he would wander around the city. Unfortunately, he still felt the ever looming presence of Screwtape watching him, but his attention was soon shifted by an unexpected encounter.
A tall man in a long, tattered coat sat cross-legged on the ground, a small leather cup in his hands. He rattled it rhythmically before tossing its contents — a set of bleached-white dice — across the stone floor. He studied them for a long moment before smiling faintly.
"Good morning to you," the man said without looking up. "Or bad. Depends how you look at it."
Sereth blinked, caught off guard. "… Are you talking to me?"
"Of course." The man finally turned his head. His pale face was gaunt but sharp, with dark rings under his eyes that looked permanent. "You've got that look. The one people get after they see something they weren't supposed to."
Sereth stiffened. "… And what's that supposed to mean?"
The man chuckled — not cruelly, but low and humorless. "Means I've had that look myself. Sooner or later, this place shows you something rotten under its skin."
He picked up the dice again and held them out toward Sereth, palm open. "Roll the bones. Humor me."
Sereth narrowed his eyes but didn't move. "Why?"
"Because chance is honest." The man's faint smile widened just a little, though there was nothing cheerful about it. "Fate likes to lie. It likes to whisper. But chance? Chance cuts to the bone."
Sereth hesitated, something about the man's words digging under his skin. "… Are you in the tournament too?"
The man nodded once. "Mm. Name's Neil. I have a match soon, actually. Not that I care much if I win. That's the beauty of the bones — you only win if you deserve to."
Something about Neil felt unnervingly calm, almost fatalistic. Not like Screwtape, not overwhelming — but like someone who'd already accepted the worst and lived with it.
"You must be pretty strong if you're here." Sereth asked, sitting down in front of the fortune teller.
"Oh I wouldn't say that, the bones just tend to help me out here and there. It really is fascinating what is possible once you are ready to accept that anything is possible." Neil responded, as he pushed the cup towards Sereth, gesturing for him to take his roll.
Sereth took the dice, shook them, and rolled.
He rolled a five and a six, and Neil chuckled upon seeing this.
"What's so funny?" Sereth snapped.
"Nothing but chance." Neil laughed, "Roll the bones, Roll the bones, I wonder what's going to happen to you?" His voice had a singsongy feel to it.
It was at this moment that Aeon decided to drift by. He moved the way he always did — not walking, not quite floating, but gliding as though carried by some unseen current only he could feel. His hoodie whispered faintly with the motion, and his golden eyes were distant, fixed on some horizon that only he seemed to see.
When he glanced over and noticed Sereth seated cross-legged in the street with a stranger, he tilted his head, a flicker of surprise breaking his usual misty calm. But that surprise deepened into something sharper when his gaze fell upon Neil.
Finally, Neil's smile returned — thinner, sharper. "The bones are fascinating today," he murmured. "I never thought I'd meet a Clockwork Angel."
For the first time since Sereth had met him, Aeon's misty, far-off look cleared. His golden-orange eyes focused sharply on Neil, as if the words had cut through to something deep.
Sereth looked between them, uneasy. "…Clockwork what now?"
Neither of them answered him right away. Neil's faint smile returned, though there was no humor in it. "Interesting. The bones didn't warn me about this."
Aeon's voice came quiet, but steady — stripped of its usual playful mystery. "And yet, they led you here."
"So they did." Neil replied. "Care to roll the bones?"
"No, thank you," Aeon replied, "I'm already quite familiar with time."
"Of course you are." Neil responded, his voice almost desolate.
"Now," Neil said as he turned back to Sereth, "I think it's safe to say that you are starting to see what's really going on in this tournament."
Sereth raised an eyebrow, "Whaddya mean?"
"Well..." Neil closed his eyes and held his hand so that it hovered over his dice. "You had an encounter with a higher force... And the bones brought you over to me. The bones also brought your orange haired friend here."
Neil looked up, expecting to see Aeon, but he had already vanished. This caused Neil to really start laughing.
"The Angels remain strong!!! Roll the bones forever! Haha!" His voice thundered, and Sereth stiffened up.
"I don't think Aeon is any kind of Angel. What are you talking about?"
"Clockwork Angels, of course!" Neil began to explain. "The chosen wielders of time!"
"Chosen wielders?" Sereth asked, then thought to himself on how that would explain how he moved in his fight against Alyie. "Then how-"
"But that is an irrelevant yet fascinating matter for the time being." Neil's demeanor suddenly changed as he interrupted."
"Walk with me, Sereth."
Sereth thought it was strange that Neil already knew his name, but that would be on track for his fortune-teller vibe.
"This is a cursed place." Neil said, but still smiling.
"And why is that?" Sereth responded in a half sarcastic tone.
"Well surely you remember your encounter with the Grandmaster of this tournament?"
Sereth had definitely 'relaxed' thanks to talking with Neil, but him bringing this up caused the stress to shoot right back into him.
"Grandmaster of the tournament!?" Sereth exclaimed, shocked at this revelation.
"Well of course!" Neil laughed, "Who else would it be?"
"Did he talk to you too?" Sereth asked accusingly.
"Not directly," Neil said, shrugging one shoulder. "But when you've been rolling the bones as long as I have, you start to feel the weather of other people's minds. You pick up a breeze here, a whisper there."
Something in Neil's easy certainty made Sereth's stomach drop — the stranger seemed to know more than he ought to. Yet oddly, Neil's presence also made the edges of that fear clearer.
"You should worry," Neil said, his smile turning grim. "Unless, of course, you have tremendous luck."
Sereth's eyes widened. "Wait—why would I—?"
"Because if not you," Neil said quietly, leaning in as if divulging a trade secret, "someone you know is going to die."