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W hen West found Altivar again, there was no sign of Torrhen. There was not a single scrap of see through silk or velvety satin out of place, nor an unruffled button to be found on the collected figure of the Prince. Instead, he sat upright on the viridian cushions with a sack of salted nuts in his hands as he munched on them, eyes glued to the arena below them as another fight was nearly at an end. A half-finished chalice of summery wine sat on a nearby table, white by the pear and saffron smell of it.

“Where did you scurry off to, Captain?” Altivar curiously surveyed him for the barest of seconds before returning his attention to the Blades. West was surprised he could still see from his lazy slouch on the couch.

An excuse was already loaded and ready to go. “I was out enjoying the pleasures and pretty things that life has to offer us. ” West retorted, perhaps a bit more sour than it should have been but he seemed to not notice.

“Oh?” A sly thing of a smirk slid into place .

To sell the sentence, he’d tousled his hair before returning to him and popped open the top button of his sapphire doublet, letting his chest peek out. Even his pants looked as though they’d been messed with but that was a result from Crimson pressed against him instead of one of his own making.

Something he wouldn’t soon forget.

Altivar left the view of the Pits, turning to see the captain instead. It seemed as if nothing else would divide his attention now. “What delightful little thing tempted the righteous, rigid Westley Saint to let loose?”

“The redhead from the other night. The pretty one that you purchased a drink from, that I caught before the tray could splash her.” West sat on the other side of the couch, crossing one leg over the other as he adjusted his tunic and pushed the golden button back into place.

The decadently painted man let out a low rumble of a laugh. “Never would I have pegged you for the sort who enjoys pale girls, or tall ones.”

West scrunched his face into a mask of confusion, mixed with a slight of disgust at his already loaded prejudices. “Now I’m curious to know what kind of girls you think I would be attracted to?”

“None, if I’m being perfectly honest. I thought you weren’t the sort to be interested in anything like that, at all.” He shuffled on the seat, leaning back until his arm was flat against the top portion of the pert cushions. “Imagine my deep surprise to hear that you went off, missing one of the most spectacular matches that I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life, to live a little. To loosen up, even. Congratulations, Captain!” He snickered like an impotent child. “Was this your first time?”

“No.” West stoically said as vexation ignited in his chest like a brand new star. “I’ve been with girls before. It’s just been a while since any caught my eye.”

“See what interesting facts we learn about each other when we’re bonded by the way of life in the Pits?” The Prince patted him twice on the back, and it was the most sarcastic, snarky touch that he’d ever felt before. “When do you see your scarlet woman again?”

“Tonight.”

The heir stared at him in shock. “Already?”

“You’ve convinced me.” He explained simply enough. “So I invited her back to my rooms with me at the palace, to stay until I grow bored of her company.”

“Oh, you dog!” Altivar gaped, slapping his chest with a hand and laughing loudly enough for a couple heads around them to turn in their direction. “Now this, this is the kind of fun I expected from you when my mother insisted that you stay by my side!”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to the boring piece of wooden plank that I assumed you to be. So straightforward and uninteresting with your ways and rules when it comes to the way you live. You’re a Saint. A god, to these plebeians. Act like it, for Saint’s sake.” There was a hissing undertone that rode out the end of his statement, one that West wanted to grab his stupid forked tongue out by and shove it back down his throat if it meant shutting him up for once.

Altivar’s power was far different from his mother’s.

Muse was an artist of all talents, ways of life.

She could sing as lovely as a sea-foam siren, play any instrument as stunningly as the creators who made them, paint and draw better than any of the greats. With a single humming note, she could send a song into someone’s head forever, or inspire them to play at any given notice. In the wrong hands, if her intent was not that of good, she could play the pied piper and send mortal men to their deaths.

But her son was a devious creature of darkness.

Which caused his power to be that of transformation. He could shift his skin into another, or into an animal or beast as long as he could picture it inside his head. The snake tattoo around his arm was a prime example of that, as Altivar loved the slippery serpents. He hardly ever became one, but he had three of them in a glass terrarium inside his chambers of the palace. Venomous creatures that could bite, maim and kill with a single bite. He admired the way they could easily shed their skin and gain a new one, as if it were nothing.

“Perhaps you should be more cautious with how often you flaunt your Saint-hood over others.” West warned him, ignoring the urge to punch his smug face. Settling for wiping it off would suffice, for now. “You forget that the mortals can control us if they find our talismans.”

Altivar huffed out a dry sound of amusement. “Which is why they’ll never get their hands on mine. It’s with my darling serpents, and unless they want to risk death in order to obtain my bone talisman, then it’s perfectly harmless to speak about it all.”

Their talismans, their charms, their objects.

Each Saint had one, as did each lesser Saint.

Most times the items in question were discovered completely by accident by the half Saints though, considering they didn’t forge their own. Each of the immortals was overprotective with their tools, as they should have been. As they all should be since being under another’s influence wasn’t something to take lightly.

His was a compass, which is why he named his establishment after it. One that always pointed to the true north of the person holding it, regardless of whatever they might try to convince it otherwise. Battered and beaten, with a dingy metal rim around the outside of it and tucked in a secret drawer with a false bottom, back at the apartment he owned.

Never in his entire life, had any managed to find it and hold its power over him before. West was grateful for that, considering many searched for it and to harness the power of the Northern Star. The most bright and brilliant light in the sky, said to lead its patrons true on every task, a faithful sign till the very end.

If unleashed, West could glow.

To the point of a blinding pain that would incinerate any who laid eyes upon him in his truest form.

A weapon.

One he hoped he’d never have to unlock.

There was a shoppe in the Silver Gate that sold cheap replicas of all the Saint’s items, called the Lucky Talisman. For those who believed in good luck charms, they could purchase mirrored versions of the blessed items for their own sake. They didn’t do anything of course, but sometimes people just needed small trinkets to help their life pass them by.

It was easy to distinguish the real artefacts from the replicated ones. The fakes were always shined to the point of perfection, to glimmer and gleam under any sconce light possible. To look as impressive as the Saints themselves, if such was possible. Whereas the real ones were always dull, used, bland compared to them. They’d existed for centuries, so why would there be any shine to them?

West visited the Lucky Talisman once, just to see what all the fuss was about. He was unimpressed when he left, finding nothing special but another way for the human’s to worship the Saints in lucrative methods .

Just like West, Altivar hardly ever dipped a single toe into his well of magic. Though his was easier to access, and wasn’t as vicious. Depending on whatever form the Prince took, that was.

The bell chimed down in the pit, a signal that the end of the night was here and that there would be no more fights until tomorrow evening when the whole morbid thing started up again. Altivar continuously lounged on the couch, not a care in the world to be seen in his ochre skin. The ruby cosmetics that highlighted his features were heavy but not as much as the glaze of liquor and sex in his yellow eyes.

West made to stand, tugging on the hem of his doublet. “I need to speak with Grimm before we leave. Can you find your own way home tonight, or will you hopelessly fall into another bed of some else?”

“Go, Captain.” The arrogant Prince flicked his fingers in the air in dismissal. “I’ll be fine, regardless of who I spend the night with.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

“Goodnight then, Prince.” West bowed his head in the respect that the heir didn’t deserve, or bothered to even try to earn before striding off and losing himself to the crowd. He wove in and out, avoiding the greasy touch of men who didn’t know how to use a washcloth, or a bathtub for that matter by the smell of them.

He waited for the area to clear as people ambled up the stairs, or down depending on whether or not they had bets to collect or wages to pay for losing. They parted when he asked them to, shoving past them before he got trapped and missed Grimm all together.

He spotted the garnet head of hair first, however, before he could find the massive man that made up the Saint. She paused before him as she undid the cream apron from around her waist. It sagged, as if there was a weighted stone in the single pocket and he assumed it must have been the tips she made from tonight.

West addressed her, finding interest in a vantage point across the room. “I’m on my way to speak with Grimm. Are you prepared to leave here for good?”

Crimson sucked in air. “West, I’ve been ready to leave this place behind for ages. Until now, I’ve never been able to.”

His lips had a mind of their own as they quirked up. “Good. Wait for me outside the Bronzed Goblet. I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, if this goes accordingly.”

She understood and told him that she would before heading towards Roland’s secluded corner of the Pits to turn in her apron and grab her things, as well as take in the last few wages that he withheld until the end of the night.

West watched her until he couldn’t make out her head of red hair anymore, then turned towards the lowest level and sank down the steps. The announcer scurried out of his way as he saw him approaching, leaving him to his own devices when it came to finding the elusive Saint that never seemed to appear in his own place of bloodshed.

For someone like the Warrior who enjoyed the scent of metal and salt in the air, relished in the kill and savoured the way scarlet sprayed, he never showed his scarred face to revel in it all.

West found that odd.

He tracked down the last level, meeting the ground as he entered the sandy arena. Just like last time, there wasn’t a glimpse of garnet embedded into the sand, nor a sign of death to be seen. Even the walls had been scrubbed clean by one of Roland’s boys who preferred the dirtier tasks to the more scandalous ones.

He couldn’t blame them.

He warily approached the gate, peering inwards. There was no firelight to guide him, but he didn’t need it. He never would. His sight was one of the only things that he could still use in this mortal shell, without ruining the lives around him with a flash bang of light.

West cupped his hands around his eyes, setting their focus in front of him instead of becoming distracted with the flickering of the arena behind him.

“War!” He spoke to the darkness and everything behind. “I know you’re in there. Are you going to stop sulking like a Saints-damned coward and come out to face me?”

A deep, treacherous chuckle echoed from the very back of the stone corridor. It slank into his skin, seeped into his pores and swallowed his immortal soul in one, massive bite.

War’s harrowing face appeared in his perfect vision, climbing out of the oily shade as he grinned like the hunting predator that he was. “If I remember correctly, North, I swore that if I ever saw you again, that I would kill you.”