And so, Alaric's tour began.

Hope renewed, the Guardian Emperor had no end to the list of places he wanted to visit. They started with the Textile District, where he was taken straight to Morn'ak's shop.

As expected, the streets were full of young, vivid, rugged men paying utmost attention, for as much as they were capable, to maidens eager to teach them all about spinning, weaving, sowing, enchanting and everything that fell under the domain of the Spinmasters.

It was comical to watch the previously battle-hungry demihumans sit still and pay attention as the art of the cloth involved less punching and more precision and calmness. As they blitzed through the Textile District, Alaric continuously spotted former warriors either tapping their foot or pacing with barely restrained energy.

It came as no surprise when, at some point, a man struggling to thread the holes of a giant loom yelled out in exasperation, unfurled his wings and shot out of the Textile District, having reached his limit. His action encouraged three more, and the exasperated sighs of maidens sure to see their faces back the next day.

A subtle hint of relief softened the tight knot in Alaric's chest.

He'd been worried about the eyes that would be glued to his floating frame as his clone carted him around, a mere shadow of his former glory, but that worry proved unfounded as Alistair shot through the Textile District too fast for the demihumans to fully grasp the situation, and they wouldn't have as most of them were too preoccupied with try to thread needles and learning about thread.

All that reached his ears were phrases like, "Was that the Guardian Emperor?" "Being carried like that looks fun." "It's better than spinning. That's for sure." A chuckle punctuated the murmurs before another filtered through. "He's an odd one, but a good one."

The last bit, he noticed, had come from a woman. The same woman who'd pulled a girl away from him just a few days ago. He didn't know her name, but he got the feeling she didn't hate him so much anymore.

Morn'ak's shop was by far the most crowded, surrounded by a large retinue of demihuman warriors all ready to soak in the old woman's wisdom. To his surprise, Morn'ak wasn't the least bit overwhelmed by their numbers.

Instead, the old crone had managed to whip them up into groups and give them all tasks to accomplish, many of which almost made Alaric burst out laughing.

No matter how hard these warriors tried, they just looked funny threading needles and attempting to embed enchantments into garments. He was particularly interested in a man who'd dived straight into the hardest part of being a Spinmaster: Enchanting.

The man had his hands out over a loom fitted with a beautiful white garment. The threads rippled and flowed, creating minute holes in which the weaves Alaric was all too familiar with were meant to go. The man had succeeded in maintaining the garment's condition as the threads frayed and rippled, and yet the hardest part was yet to come.

Tendrils of aether stretched from the man's fingers, then began interacting with the fabric. It was a delicate process during which the man would have to demonstrate far more control than was needed to thread the 192-holed loom. A crowd had started gathering around, eager to see the first of them achieve success, but before they could start cheering, the white fabric caught fire and burned to ash right in front of them.

Alaric winced at the sight.

He knew the feeling all too well, as he had also lost quite a few sets of fabric on his first tries at enchanting. Even his weapon back in the arena was reported to have disintegrated moments after the Duel of Wind had ended. Alaric suspected the item had only held on that long because his Will was holding it together.

An old woman strolled out of the shop and approached the boy, "Call it a day, Herm'ak. At this rate, I'll be losing more money than I can make in a year."

"I shall get you more material," the warrior answered, despair burning in his eyes. Such a dismissal would bring upon untold shame, and he couldn't allow it: "Allow me to venture past the storm veil and into the Barren Mountains."

"Those eagles can only lose so many feathers for your experiments, unfortunately," Morn'ak sighed. She could see the determination in his eyes. Alaric could too. This wasn't the will of a warrior looking to exploit the old woman's techniques to improve his combat power. Somehow, this man had fallen in love with the craft, regardless of how eager he was to grasp the harder concepts.

So, Morn'ak compromised, "How about this? Take the next three days off to collect supplies for your studies, and during that time, I'd like you to meditate upon the techniques I've taught you. Learn to control your aether, and most of all… master patience."

Herm'ak's eyes shone brighter, and he bowed, "As you will, Great Spinmaster Morn'ak."

With that, he bid her goodbye and left, all too eager to fill a barrel with more feathers and pellets for his training. Alaric could see the spring in his step as he cleared through the ranks of struggling warriors, happy to be progressing faster than any of them could hope to manage.

"It might take a while for the 'patience' part to sink in," Alaric chuckled behind the old woman.

She didn't bother turning to him as she answered, "That's all because a certain someone somehow managed to use the High Arts to enchant a spear after only studying under me for a week. What were you thinking, boy?"

"I don't think I was," Alaric answered with a nervous smile. It was good to see the old woman again, and embarrassing that she had to see him in this state… and yet, he was more content with talking to her again than staying in his room, regardless of the situation.

She looked at his floating form, seeing past his exterior and into his damaged meridians and paralysed body. Alaric felt her Spirit Sight ghost through him. Her eyes gained a small tinge of sadness, then she spoke, "I suppose you've suffered adequate repercussions. What do you ask of this old one now that you're unable to use aether?"

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"I'm only visiting to see how you're doing," Alaric answered with a polite nod meant to be a bow. His eyes darted about the front of her shop, taking in the numbers that would not leave her for a while, all because of him. "Sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

The woman grinned, shaking her head, "You've saved my home, Protector. I have no quarrels with you. Better we have more Spinmasters than Warmongers."

"Don't you fear the massive shift would reduce the military might of the demiplane?" the clone carrying Alaric mused.

Morn'ak's eyes honed in on Alistair, flashing through various colours before widening in amusement, "We have a Saint and quite a few Diamond Ranks among us. We'll be fine. I don't think we've met, Lifeless One."

Alistair swept into an overly elegant bow, "While I take this form, you might refer to me as Alistair."

"Oh, how regal!" the woman cackled.

The clone shamelessly wiggled his eyebrows, "I've been practising… and it would be wrong to say we haven't met. You taught my master to enchant, and I am, by extension, a part of him."

Morn'ak stepped closer and examined the clone a bit more, her eyes going wide before she wiped her brow, "A clone that's… autonomous?" she mused, "I never thought I'd get to see one."

"You've heard of them?" Alaric asked.

"They are so rare that you could say they are myths. As a young whippersnapper, I marvelled at the limits of enchantments. I wove many clones in my day, but was never able to create one capable of making its own decisions. They were powerful, fearless, and felt no pain, but in the end, each one of them required my assistance to perform even the simplest of tasks."

Alaric had known the Spinmaster's craft to bear nearly limitless possibilities with how much they could enchant cloth, bestowing it with breathtaking properties.

He'd even imagined an army dressed in leather armour, wielding powers beyond their station and taking on an army wreathed in steel just because of the might of their Spinmasters, and yet even then, he seemed to have been thinking small.

"A clone! Made entirely out of weaving?" he thought to himself, "There is something I'd like to see for myself someday."

"Find me when you can walk again, and I'll gift you a piece in my vault," Morn'ak answered, "They've been gathering dust anyway."

…………………

Scarlett rarely had wild ideas. They weren't so entertained back in the mercenary group at home, and she had learned to suppress them, turning all her efforts to growing stronger. Her mind was clean and focused, always thinking of ways to evolve into an even more deadly weapon, especially now that she felt herself hitting a bottleneck.

Keeping up with Alaric's monstrous growth was an exhausting endeavour. One that had her body aching from morning till evening, every day, just because she wished to keep up with the boy. It was all she could do just stay within reach of him.

When they'd met, he'd been weaker than her, and now, he was on the precipice of crossing over to the Stone Rank, a whole rank above her, while she stagnated.

Naturally, she wouldn't let this stand, and she was training harder than ever under her new teacher, a black knight of untold power. Today was not a day to train, though. Today, Scarlett had something else blooming in her normally battle-ready mind.

Ideas she'd never really entertained before. Childish ideas.

She'd gotten the chance to peek into Alaric's mind on the day they learnt how to levitate him through town, only to find that he was far more imaginative than she'd always assumed.

No, he was actually quite spirited.

He was unable to train, and yet, rather than wallowing in self-loathing, he wanted to tour the demiplane. It was humbling to see one paralyzed yet full of life.

To say she was impressed would be an understatement. So impressed was she that for today, she would put down her training blades and be a part of his 'tour.'

She had ideas.

"Alistair, would you mind handing Alaric over to me?" the girl's voice sang, attempting to erase any malicious intent from it.

Alaric shuddered from his spot in the air, not fooled one bit. It only made the merciless gleam in her eye glow brighter.

"Scarlett… We're friends, aren't we?"

"Of course, we are," Scarlett chimed with a brilliant smile, "Aren't we, Lucy?"

The silver-haired girl had been going over medical formations in her head, tweaking the Rune circles that had been taught to her by Kair'ak, before she snapped back to the present and locked eyes with Scarlett.

The girls had gotten closer during their time in the demiplane and only needed a moment of eye contact to communicate their thoughts.

Lucy's eyes shone, "Yes, we are friends indeed."

Alistair lost grip on the spell as two forces of aether forced his power away. With both arms stretched out, Alaric hovered in the air like a marionette under the conflicting powers of the two conniving girls.

The girls led them out of the Steel District and into a street filled with stores selling perfumes, accessories, shoes and feminine attire from all over the Valerian Continent. It was one of the few places in the demiplane that sang praises to the success of the Storm riders in their task to enrich their demiplane.

The only reason these items were rare in the hands of commonfolk was how expensive they were to buy, seeing as each item had come from outside their Barren Mountains.

The first establishment had dresses made of silk and jewellery in silver and gold tones. Each item was embellished with far more lace and fabric than Alaric thought necessary, creating fashion he found outlandish and downright wasteful… and yet, he couldn't help but picture Darla in one of these clothes.

The emerald-eyed boy swallowed. He didn't know what they were doing here, and yet he could feel the devious aura rolling off the girls as they carted him to the large shop with a dressing room in the back.

Lucy and Scarlett started looking through the store's wares before they would duck inside to use the changing room, one after the other, as they needed to keep Alaric afloat.

The boy tried turning back to his friends, but LionHeart and the demihuman siblings merely turned away, far more interested in the exotic wares than his struggles.

The store owner smirked, "Yes, ma'am. That colour would go beautifully with your skin tone. Might I recommend this cherry red dress as well? I believe the purest colour in existence is one that speaks more than words can."

"Ah, you know your stuff, sir!" Scarlett mused as she took the red dress from his hands.

A few moments later, the two girls stood in front of Alaric, both of them posing dramatically so he would judge their appearances. The cherry red outfit Scarlett was sporting covered her top well, but expressed her femininity in ways Alaric didn't think possible, exposing the flesh of her creamy belly while covering her face with a translucent veil.

Lucy, on the other hand, was slightly more modest with a wide-brimmed hat almost covering her eyes, while long white gloves complimented the frilly black dress she had on. It went extremely well with her silver hair.

"So, Alaric," Lucy asked, "What do you think?"

Alaric swallowed. Lucy and Scarlett were both beautiful girls. So beautiful in fact, that he'd caught men eyeballing them several times now.

None had ever tried getting close enough, though, as Lucy had the power to literally wipe her existence from their minds, while Scarlett had enough knives on her body to make a porcupine jealous.

Now, however, he was to rate their beauty, and he was to do so without angering them. After all, they were the reason he was floating in the air right now. One wrong answer and he'd be at their mercy. The telekinetic tug on his arms reminded him well of the power they held over him.

"Beautiful," he intoned, "You both look quite stunning. Though I believe a fiery colour would suit you better, Scarlett. And try a colour more like that of a peony, Lucy. I'm not an expert, but I am curious."

'Oh, who am I kidding?! I know nothing about skin tones and fashion! I'm just an orphan from the Five Hills. Just a little over seven months ago, the most luxurious I'd ever gone were slightly faded clothes during the Appraisal Ceremony.' He cried.

Why were they coming to him? His suggestions were probably going to make them look like walking pumpkins at the end of the day.

The two girls went red in the face before Scarlett turned away to the owner of the establishment, "You heard the lad. Something fiery, and something with the colour of blooming peonies."

Alaric's heart was beating like a drum, 'SAVE ME, SISTER MARLA!!!!!!'

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