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Hidden lower than the ravines, through solid rock and countless enemies, there is a body. It is invisible, intangible, the eternal guardian of an imperfect seal. It is a terrible thing, formed of raw muscle and exposed flesh, forever hungry. It is The Guide.
Currently, it answers to the name Kyle. It's a friendly, round sort of name, with a fun click as the first syllable and a soft end. His body is human enough, with hair both neat and messy. His clothes are appropriately worn, although he never changes them.
Late afternoon comes with a pleasant warmth, the rain having petered a few hours ago. His house, cutely designed, keeps the damp from intruding. It holds more comforts than Kyle expected to be wasted on him. A soft bed, a dresser and a full bookshelf. Compared to the lazy way he used to seek out a sunlit, grassy spot to sleep, it's quite lovely.
The books themselves, however, are a little mediocre. Undoubtedly stolen from the dungeon, very few of them are original texts from before the Seal. Of those, most spells are beyond what the inscribed law will allow. That leaves two tomes of any use; he’ll pass them onto his friend later.
Only one book is of any interest to him. It's bound in old leather with loose binding. An action-adventure about the merits of friendship with a romantic subplot that he finds a little boring. The pirate and siren were interesting enough, he supposed, but their relationship was doomed to fail from the beginning.
He puts the book down when the characters start to echo old memories. Watching people make the same mistakes he did, even fictional, makes him uneasy.
Creaking wood screams, as if he could ever miss the heavy footsteps that his protagonist makes. They never knock. Kyle can't bring himself to mind, always happy to help where he can.
Yes, it's much better this way. He prefers being a mentor figure. If he's useful enough to earn that title, anyway.
Their blank eyes track every microbalance he does, watching his hands especially. Kyle isn't sure that they realise they're doing that, but it's a good sign. Caution is needed here. Still, they look exhausted. Mud flakes over their boots, grains of sand ground into the mess. They've been to the oasis again.
They suddenly reanimate, a movement jagged with enthusiasm as they pull something from their inventory. Steaming in the slowly cooling air, a plate of oysters sitting on a porcelain plate. The plate itself is familiar, unevenly sculpted as it is. It was one of the first things they made. Those times feel far away now, he thinks, looking at their meteor armour.
Soon. He smiles.
“That looks lovely. Well done.”
They click their tongue in reproach. Presumably, their face does that scowl that they usually wear around him. He can't see half of their face through the helmet.
“I've been doing nothing but shucking oysters for the past week. Take one.” They growl, a deeper register seeping into their voice. “I haven't gotten a pink pearl. Why’d you even tell me about it? I could've gone on with my life without knowing it existed.”
He takes an oyster.
“I hadn't realised it would be a problem for you. You don't need it. Just ask me about something else.” Kyle shrugs and eats the oyster. It's bland. Even so, it slakes his hunger.
…He takes another one.
“That's not how I work. You tell me something, I have to have it. Remember the yo-yo? I have a drawer full of them. I'm starting a collection.” They step past him to put the plate on the dresser, turning around to show him something else.
It is, indeed, another yo-yo. The previous one was purple, seething malicious energy into the air. This one is green, a serrated edge and an eerie, acidic shade. They do a couple tricks with it. By that, he means they fling it around the room, dragging it against the wall and flailing the string into a cat’s cradle that miraculously undoes itself.
“Please don't ruin the house you worked so hard on.” Kyle says, ignoring the food in a way that he hopes is subtle. “I’m not entirely sure how much material it took to make such a lovely design.”
They shrug, metal clanging from the movement, but they do stop. “Just take another oyster. I can't look at them anymore.”
He’s already eaten it before they finish talking. Kyle holds his hands very still inside his pockets, even though they'll smell like salt later. Awareness prickles at his nape. It's right there. They're a gift - but he wants to look human.
“You know…” He wonders if this might be a different goosechase he's sending them on, but the Corruption is a patient enemy. It's not in a hurry. “I could show you how to brew a luck potion. You found different types of pearl, right? You can make them with any, but black pearls will suit your purpose best.”
Their posture straightens from the subtle slump they were falling into. “Really? You're not fucking with me?”
He laughs. “Of course I'm not. You need a waterleaf, a ladybird and a type of pearl. Any kind will do, but the potency depends on the rarity.” Kyle pauses to think a little more. “A gnome or a clover would boost your luck, too…”
They gasp. “I have a clover! It's in the miscellaneous chest. Can I make a luck potion with it?”
“No, just carry it with you. Keep it safe.”
As soon as he stops talking, they're already running away. Oh well. They'll probably come back to ask more questions later. The sun dips below the horizon, turning the trees a glowing orange that reminds him of the underworld.
Then, the moon comes. And his mind fades just the slightest amount.
They come back later for the plate, but it's gone. Kyle turns from the dark window with a smile sharper than it should be, glowing red from the bleeding light. His mouth is a mess of cuts.
“I enjoyed the food very much.”
Their eyes are shadowed, but he can see their hands clench. He's still hungry.