It was a specific shade of green, somewhere between "moss on a damp log" and "poisoned goblin." The Knight sat hunched on the driver's bench of the cart, clutching his stomach as the wooden wheels bounced over every rut in the road to Riverwood.
Burp.
A small, perfectly spherical cloud of black ink escaped Rylus’s lips. It drifted into the air, smelling of ancient chemicals and regret.
"It tastes," Rylus wheezed, wiping a streak of black bile from his chin, "like history."
Elias watched from the back of the cart. He tapped his staff rhythmically against the wood—tap, tap, tap.
He felt a twinge of guilt. Just a twinge. It was largely overshadowed by his concern that Rylus might accidentally ink-stain Elias’s robes.
"I could fix it," Elias offered. "A simple [Purify] would neutralize the toxins."
Rylus flinched. He turned around, eyes wide and bloodshot.
"No," Rylus rasped. "The last time you purified something, you erased the concept of bacteria from a twenty-foot radius. I enjoy having gut flora, Sir. I will keep the ink."
"Suit yourself," Elias muttered.
He looked at the sky. It was a dull, overcast gray. The air felt thin here, lacking the rich mana density of the Third Era. It felt like trying to breathe through a straw.
They rounded a bend, and a small wooden building came into view. A sign above the door read: ROYAL COURIER STATION - SECTOR 4.?
Outside, rows of wooden cages housed hundreds of pigeons. The birds were cooing softly, pecking at seeds.
Elias stared at them.
"Birds?" Elias asked. "You entrust the Kingdom's critical data infrastructure to... flying rats?"
Rylus pulled Barnaby to a halt. "It’s the fastest way to send a message to the Capital, Sir. Unless you have a Far-Speaker?"
Elias did not have a Far-Speaker. He had a [Stone of Universal Truth], but that only answered yes/no questions, and it was usually sarcastic.
"I need to make a reservation," Elias decided. He hopped down from the cart. "If we are going to the Capital, I refuse to sleep in a stable. There was an establishment... The Gilded Lily. They served excellent scones in 995."
"That was three hundred years ago, Sir," Rylus pointed out, burping another ink cloud. "It’s probably a brothel now."
"Then the scones should be affordable," Elias said, marching toward the station.
The Station Master was a bored-looking man with a stain on his shirt. He didn't look up when Elias approached the counter.
"Standard rate is two copper per bird," the man droned. "High priority is five. No cryptic warnings about doom. We had complaints last week."
Elias looked at the pigeon coop. He looked at the Station Master.
He sighed.
"Inefficient," Elias whispered.
He didn't want to write a letter. His handwriting was terrible (he was used to dictating to magical quills), and ink triggered Rylus’s PTSD.
'I can just send the message directly,' Elias thought. [Transmit]. A simple Tier-2 communication spell. Point-to-point audio projection.
He calculated the distance. The Capital was roughly a hundred miles south.?
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Signal attenuation, was the best approach for this work however he had a critical concern.
'The atmosphere in this era is mana-starved. The signal will degrade over distance. I need to boost the gain.'
He focused. He visualized the front desk of The Gilded Lily. He imagined the receptionist.
He drew in a breath of mana. He didn't take a sip; he took a gulp. He needed to make sure the message arrived clearly. He pushed enough mana into the vocal matrix to punch through a mountain range.
He leaned forward, intending to whisper politely.
"[Transmit]," he mouthed. "Two guests. One donkey. Do you have Earl Grey?"
He forgot to account for the Void Amplifier.
The spell didn't just carry his voice. It seized the acoustic properties of the atmosphere and beat them into submission.?
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.
It wasn't a whisper. It wasn't a shout. It was the Voice of God.
The sky turned violent purple. A shockwave of sound erupted from Elias’s lips, expanding upward and outward at the speed of sound.
Thunder rolled across the entire province. Clouds were shredded.
And from the heavens, a voice—Elias’s voice, magnified by a factor of ten million—roared down upon the world, audible to every living soul within five hundred miles.
"TWO... GUESTS!"
The windows of the Courier Station shattered instantly.
"ONE... DONKEY!"
The pigeon cages disintegrated. Thousands of feathers exploded into the air like a snowstorm. The Station Master was blown backward out of his chair, clutching his bleeding ears.
"DO... YOU... HAVE... EARL... GREY?"
The ground shook. Trees bent double. In the distance, a flock of geese fell out of the sky, stunned by the sheer volume.?
Elias stood in the center of the sonic devastation. He blinked. His ears were ringing.
"That," Elias noted, "was a bit loud."
He had intended "polite inquiry." He had achieved "divine ultimatum."
Behind him, Rylus was already moving.
Despite the nausea, despite the ink, the Knight scrambled onto the driver’s seat. He grabbed Elias by the back of his robe and hauled him into the cart like a sack of potatoes.
"GO!" Rylus screamed, his voice cracking. "BARNABY II, RUN!"
Barnaby II didn't need telling. The donkey’s eyes were wide white orbs of terror. He had heard the Sky Voice. He believed the End Times had come.
Barnaby II ran. He didn't trot. He galloped. The cart peeled out of the station, leaving a trail of dust and pigeon feathers in its wake.
Twenty miles away, on a ridge overlooking the road, Inspector Valdis dropped her brass telescope.
She fell to her knees, clutching her ears.
The sky was still vibrating. The echo of the demand for tea rolled through the valleys like distant thunder.
Earl Grey... Earl Grey...
Valdis’s monocle—her replacement monocle—cracked down the middle.?
She reached for her notebook with trembling hands. Her pen skittered across the page.
Log Entry: 842.4.12
Subject: The Pale One.
Event: Sonic Anomaly. Class 10.
Notes: He speaks with the voice of the Storm. He demands a specific leaf juice. He travels with a donkey.
Threat Level: CATASTROPHIC.
She stood up. She pulled a cage from her pack. Inside was a black raven—a specialized Mage-Hunter messenger.
"Go," she whispered to the bird. "Fly to the Capital. Tell the Mage Guard. The Heretic is coming. And he is thirsty."
The raven took flight, streaking toward the horizon.
They stopped three hours later. They were deep in a dense forest, far off the main road.
The echoes had finally faded.
Elias sat on a mossy rock near the cart. He looked at his hands. They were pale, thin, and shaking slightly.
He had just wanted to make a reservation. He had wanted a scone.
Instead, he had terrified a nation.
He remembered when he could whisper to Master Arion across the Grand Library without waking a dust mite. He remembered control. Now, he couldn't even speak without breaking the world.?
He felt a profound, heavy weight settles in his chest. It wasn't just the magic. It was the isolation. He was too big for this world. He was a whale in a goldfish bowl.
"I..." Elias started. His voice was quiet. Hoarse. "I killed the birds."
Rylus sat down next to him. The Knight looked better. The adrenaline—or maybe the sheer terror—had settled his stomach. He wiped a stray pigeon feather from his pauldron.
Rylus didn't yell. He didn't lecture. He just leaned back against the cart wheel and looked at the sky.
"Well," Rylus said softly. "At least they know we're coming."
Elias looked at him. A dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips.
"And yet," Elias whispered, "I suspect my reservation will not be honored."
Rylus smiled. "Probably not, Sir. But if they don't have the tea... I pity them."
Elias closed his eyes. He listened to the wind in the trees. It was quiet now.
"The world was listening," Elias murmured to himself. "Unfortunately, I had nothing to say."
He pulled his hood up.
"Tomorrow," Elias said, "we will use hand signals."
"Agreed," Rylus said.
For the first time since waking, Elias had managed to say something so loud the whole kingdom heard it—
and the only one who answered was a Knight still willing to sit beside him.
Mana Consumed: 0.08% (Global Broadcast)
Current Mood: Loud
Rylus Loyalty: +12 (Accomplice to Noise Pollution)
Reputation: The Thundering Gourmet (Kingdom-Wide Panic)
Reservation Status: Unlikely?