"I hope I don't get to meet her for a long time…" Letting out a huge sigh, Cael recalled his last conversation and shuddered at how sharp the Priestess was.
'I guess I should thank the Worldwound for his curse then.' He looked at his burnt hand. If it wasn't for the "Worldwound's shadow" he would've been found out. Yet he couldn't help but feel that the issue had only been postponed—not resolved.
'What I know for sure is that I want nothing to do with Solenne of the Veiled Flame.' She was a mystery. Even with how easy it was for Cael to read people, he couldn't figure her out—nor could he imagine the kind of relationship Arlen and she had before.
She was genuinely happy to hear that Arlen came and very sad when she mentioned him not coming after defeating the Worldwound.
'But I can't ignore her either, that would make me a lot more suspicious. If I knew what kind of relationship those two had I would have a much easier time… ARGHH why did I never ask about his love life!?'
Splash
Lost in thought, he stepped on a puddle, wetting Arlen's nice slacks. When Cael took a look at the reflection, he almost laughed at the ridiculous sight. While Arlen's wardrobe looked classy, the golden helmet was quite the mismatch.
The helmet wasn't a great solution, but removing it would be worse. Instead of looking at him with curiosity and amusement, the passersby would be horrified.
"Hmm… I guess I should pay an old friend a visit."
***
The slums weren't too far from The Solar Sanctum. Usually, such big and extravagant buildings are at the heart of the city, far away from anything that might be considered dirty by the nobles, let alone a cathedral.
However, in an effort to rebuild the slums, the bishop three bishops ago decided on that placement, even to the dismay of the nobles. But he was the one who funded it, so it ended up there.
He was unsuccessful in his efforts and is known today as the biggest fool in the entire history of The Followers of Light, all for wanting to help the slum dwellers.
Today, anyone from the slums isn't allowed inside, and the current bishop himself doesn't visit the cathedral often. Even Arlen didn't have the best things to say about him.
The air was thick with rot and rust. Something sizzled in a gutter to his left, a rat, probably. Maybe not. Walking through the maze-like streets with ease, Cael didn't pay any mind to the mud dirtying his shoes, the collapsed houses, the malnourished animals, or the fake beggars in the darker alleyways.
'Arlen would've fallen for their act… but he's the Hero, no one would be able to mug him sadly.'
Nearing a rundown shack—well, rundown in Arlen's standards.
In comparison to the other buildings, this shack looked a lot more presentable. The sign of the shield and sword hanging beside the door assured Cael that it was still Gorran's.
***
The small bell rang as the Hero entered the shabby store.
"I cannot believe my eyes. They weren't lying. The Hero himself in my shithole."
Snarked the older man with a big scar across his face. Standing behind the counter, he flashed a big smile betraying the foul mood he radiated.
"Word travels fast. How did they know it was me?"
Feigning ignorance to the shadows that followed him since he stepped foot into the slums, he asked a rhetorical question.
"Quit acting stupid. From the way you were moving through the streets, I could've sworn you were born here."
A suspicious look filled his face. "What do you want?"
"A friend of mine recommended this place to me—said you can make anything if the pay was right."
Cael approached the counter and slid a pouch of Arlen's coins onto it.
"A friend, ey?" Gorran stared at the pouch with an unreadable expression. "He really did get himself killed this time… What was he like at the end?"
This was the first person to ask about Cael's death.
"The last word he said to me was… Dumbass."
That was the last thing he said to Arlen.
"Hahaha, then he goes and dies like a dumbass… Well, if he recommended me, I have to meet your expectations. Want something made?"
His mood shifted, and some of the animosity disappeared.
"I want a mask."
Walking around in his helmet everywhere wouldn't be ideal. A mask would solve that issue.
"Actually make it two. One white, one black."
The Hero isn't allowed into the slums, Cael can pass this visit as him dealing with "Cael's will."
"A mask? Thought your kind liked faces. Shining, smug ones."
He still had animosity towards the nobles, like everyone else in the slums, Cael included.
At his question, the fake Hero took off his helmet, revealing his face.
Gorran stared. A beat passed. Then another. His lips curled.
"I heard you were burnt, but damn. You look horrendous."
The look of disgust on his face couldn't be more prevalent.
"Thanks."
Irritated, he barely held himself from punching him in the face.
"Hey, we slum dwellers don't care much for kissing ass. Metal or bone?"
Gorran shrugged.
"Bone. And make me some gloves too while you're at it—same colors. Make them from something that won't stick to my hands. They're quite rough."
Showing his hands to the man, he finished his order.
"Sure. Want an enhancement on them?"
He scratched his spotty beard as he thought about the work he'd need to put in.
"Concealment. But make the white ones deliberately weaker. I want them done as soon as possible."
The Hero is supposed to be proud of himself. He can't fully conceal himself, so Cael will have to deal with just covering his burns.
"Don't rush me, Lightwhatever. Come by later today—they'll be done. But I'm putting no prayers in them."
He snatched the pouch and disappeared into the back while waving his hand for Cael to leave.
'Gorran is the same as ever… He might even be nicer today.'
Cael smirked as he left the shack.
'I should visit home and take anything of worth while waiting for the masks.'