Toren Daen

The mages employed by Bloodstone Elixirs took their time in retrieving those left living in the bowels of the warehouse. I watched numbly from the side with Renea Shorn, both of us silent at what we’d witnessed.

The guards were handling the situation worse outwardly. Some simply couldn’t carry the survivors up, their hands and limbs shaking and their steps unsteady from the gruesome nature of what they’d witnessed.

It couldn’t have been like this a few weeks ago when Naereni and Karsien scouted the place, I thought. They would’ve said something.

I wished at that moment that I was more like Arthur Leywin. He had the ability to just sequester his raging emotions away. Make himself apathetic and like stone when he truly needed to. But as I saw the blithe-mottled skin of each person as they were carted up, I forced myself to turn away.

I couldn’t force myself into apathy as he could. It was anathema to my very self.

I sensed Naereni’s heartfire from the edge of my perception slowly approaching us, but I didn’t turn to her. I watched my breath mist on the cool February air instead, trying to find my center.

Nareni managed to weave her way closer silently, slipping through nearby alleyways. But before she could reach us, Renea Shorn turned.

She has sharp senses, I thought.

“The Young Rat, I presume?” she asked. I kept myself facing away from the young mage who was sneaking up from the rear, so I couldn’t see her reaction to being discovered.

“That’s me!” she said with faux cheer. “But it’s very rude to drop in on people’s homes without asking for an invitation.” Naereni paused. “You’re in the Rat’s territory, Miss Beaker. It would be smart to tell us what your intentions are.”

Miss Beaker? I thought incredulously, finally turning to look at the young woman.

Renea looked unphased by the nickname, except for a slight downturn of her lips. “You claim this entire district for your little group?” she said with skepticism. “Considering what occurred while these people were under your protection, I believe my intentions should remain my own.”

Naereni bristled, and I sensed a rising retort. From what I knew, she rarely met someone who would fire right back in verbal spars.

“Bloodstone Elixirs has evicted the Doctrination from East Fiachra,” I said tiredly, desperately wanting to avoid a spat between these two strong-willed women. I was already exhausted. “But the people under the warehouse…” My words choked off as images of the torture chambers down below flashed in my mind. Wade’s mother and sister were captured there, weren’t they? Did they receive that fate, or were they among those strapped to the gurneys being wheeled out?

Naereni’s eyes snapped to me from under her mask. “Lord Daen, is it? I might not know you, but if I were in your shoes, I’d leave this woman for–”

“She knows we work together,” I said, my shoulders slumping as I turned away. “She’s the one who delivered all those gifts to the Cistern a while back. No need to pretend we don’t know each other.”

Naereni paused, blinked, and then looked at Renea Shorn as if she were some sort of exotic animal. She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment another group finally extracted one of the survivors from the warehouse. It was the little girl I’d soothed. She appeared to still be asleep, but her thin, stained form would haunt my nightmares.

Naereni went rigid, then darted toward the guards holding her. I squeezed my eyes shut, turning away as she started to anxiously ask questions of the guards. I could’ve eavesdropped if I wanted to, but it took too much of my energy.

Lady Shorn watched her go with a slight frown on her face. Then she turned once more, orienting on a nearby alleyway. “Hello, Karsien,” she said. “It has been a long time since we’ve met, hasn’t it?”

I looked toward the alleyway, confused. There was nothing there that I could sense, even through my new feel for lifeforce. What was she talking about?

Mist swirled in the shadows, seeming to seep from the chill air. It slowly formed into a familiar figure, the man looking at Renea warily. “Lady Shorn,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your senses are as good as ever, I see.”

I’m too rattled, I thought. My senses are off, and now Renea’s catching things before me.

Karsien had always been difficult for me to sense, even as I increased in core level. I was sure I was stronger than him in direct combat, but his ability to mask his presence was beyond anything I could manage.

“I heard what happened to Dornar,” Renea said conversationally. “It was quite the scene. Half the corpse’s face had been burned to a crisp.” She smirked knowingly.

Karsien was utterly still, the mist swirling around him like a reluctant cloak. “What’s happened with the blithe in that warehouse?”

Renea was quiet for a moment. “Gone. Mardeth funneled it out before we arrived. But the greater worry for you should be what happened to the people here.”

I felt myself slowly zoning out as the two talked tensely, a good ten feet between them. I wished for the dozenth time that Aurora was here to talk to me. Our empathic tether was empty and dull; a gaping hole in my mind. Until the undead zone in the Relictombs, I’d never realized how validating having a second mind near yours could be. Whenever you saw something that angered you, the very fact another was furious added weight to your own thoughts.

Without her constant emotional input, I was left feeling half myself.

I watched as the guards carted the little girl away on a stretcher. She was limp in the cot, covered in sores and yellow-green splotches. She was far too thin to be healthy.

But her eyes were open again. She’d woken up in the past few minutes.

And they stared. No, they begged. Those dull pupils seemed to dig into my chest, silently pleading for comfort and hope. She lifted a little hand, holding it out in an act of desperation.

I felt myself moving, leaving Karsien and Renea to their chat. I weaved through the men and women stationed around, making a beeline for the little girl. Her doe-like eyes stayed focused on me all the while.

The guards looked at me as I approached, wary of my intentions. But then I took the child’s outstretched hand, holding her frail fingers in my own. I looked up at the guards, nodding silently.

They understood. They’d been in that horrid basement, too. Sometimes, we all needed a hand to hold.

—

I walked with the cot as they weaved through the streets, taking familiar roads to a familiar destination. All the while, I held the ailing girl’s hand. It was cold outside; the winter weather unforgiving. I only hoped the little bit of warmth I provided could ward off the chill.

We reached our goal after fifteen minutes or so, the streets getting progressively cleaner as we neared. The East Fiachra Healer’s Guild stood before me, so familiar yet so alien all at once. I took a deep breath as we prepared to enter.

The inside was much the same. Greahd wasn’t working the receptionist’s desk today, and I felt grateful for that. I didn’t know if I could muster the energy to interact with her. Old memories welled to the surface as the aged walls greeted me. Of days spent with Norgan on shifts, trying to contain the energy of youth in an environment that demanded patience and hard work. Practicing my violin in the corner, struggling at each draw of the bow.

Those were the good memories. But right now, as I held a little girl’s hand as she was taken to an uncertain future, the dour notes held far more sway. Of my hands shaking as they held a scalpel, Trelza’s gaze empty as the void as he commanded me to make a precise cut. I remembered weeping after the fact, the absurd amounts of blood, and the feeling of a blade scything through flesh so different from drawing a bow over strings.

The two guards stopped inside the lobby, going to talk to a receptionist I was unfamiliar with. I scanned the room dully, lost in memories until I noted a few other poor souls on stretchers that had been evacuated from the warehouse.

Why hadn’t they been carted back to a room yet? I thought with worry. It was a fifteen-minute walk from the warehouse to the Healer’s Guild at a brisk pace. If these two people were still waiting here…

One of them must have been here for nearly half an hour. In their state, that was a dangerous amount of time to be away from care.

“I’m sorry,” I heard the receptionist saying to the guards. “We’ve tried to fit them all! We did! But our clinic is small. We don’t have enough room for–”

The woman cut off as I pushed my way past the guards, staring down at her. “You said there isn’t room for these people?” I asked. “Have you checked in room A6? That one’s usually used for supplies, but can be requisitioned for patients if need be.”

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The receptionist frowned, taken aback by my direct words and tone. “I don’t know how you know that, sir,” she started. If she didn’t recognize me then she was likely a new hire. “But we already have done that. The sudden influx of these people… I keep telling them. But it’s too much for us! We’ll have some rooms cleared out eventually, but until then there’s not much we can do.”

I ground my teeth, staring down at the clerk. Where before she seemed a bit defiant of the guards pressuring her, she slowly wilted under my glare like a plant left out in the sun.

It wasn’t fair of me to blame this woman. I knew that. Around this time of year, the work this small clinic did spiked tremendously as people came down with fevers and chills. Even simple sicknesses could be life-threatening with the poor immune systems of the average unadorned and the price of reliable treatment.

I spared a glance back at the girl. She was still looking at me with those wide, empty eyes. Pleading.

I won’t fail you, too, I thought to this nameless child.

I swiveled on my heel, resolve settling in my gut. I took a deep breath as I plodded toward the door leading into the wider medical complex. “Those rooms will be free soon,” I said, keeping my eyes forward. “Just be ready to let these people in.”

The clerk snapped out of her fear, growing frantic as she recognized my aim. “Sir!” she cried, sounding unnerved. “You can’t go back there! It’s for employees only!”

She scrambled from around her desk, leaving the guards–who looked unsure themselves–to loiter at the counter. “You aren’t allowed back there!” she said as I pushed my way through the familiar doors.

She stumbled after me as I marched through the back rooms. The clerk raised a hand, finally about to try and yank me backward, when I came face to face with Trelza.

The tall man turned slowly to look at me, disregarding some paperwork he was watching over. Those hard eyes sharpened when they saw me, and I heard the receptionist whimper behind me.

“I’m sorry, doctor! I told him he couldn’t come back here, but he pushed on through anyway! I’ll try and call security!”

I locked eyes with the doctor in front of me. Rarely had I ever felt a desire to prove myself to anyone in this world, yet Trelza was one of the rare few. His stern eyes were what made my scalpel steady. My intent focused. My desires clear.

When I’d disappointed him by breaking my oath not to take revenge, it was more than simply breaking a pact. I’d let him down.

But that didn’t matter now. Those were my own internal issues; personal between the two of us.

“There are a dozen survivors of blithe torture about to wheel into your clinic,” I said to the doctor, squaring my shoulders. “And according to your new receptionist, you have no space to treat them.” I turned for a moment, surveying the frantic movements of the few familiar volunteers down here. None of them seemed to notice me, too engrossed in their work. I looked back at the silent doctor. “Tell me who needs immediate help, Trelza.”

There was another long, strung-out silence as the doctor and I stared each other down. But for all that I found fault in how he treated his patients emotionally, I knew he valued them above his own personal issues. He would not refuse extra help.

“Rooms A2, A5, B4, and B8 are in the least dire circumstances,” he said after a moment. “Do your work and leave, Daen,” he said, turning on his heels.

I exhaled. The receptionist, whose heart was beating at a frankly absurd level, groaned behind me. I suddenly felt guilty for what she’d just experienced. I was used to Trelza, but the tall, lanky bald man was incredibly intimidating to most.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said after a moment. “But you’ll be able to let those people in soon. The rooms will clear out quickly.”

I brushed through the familiar hallways, calling on my lifeforce and revving its power.

—

I went from room to room, using my new healing abilities to the best of my power. I focused on those who were the least injured or sick, since getting them healthy enough to be on their way took the least effort. It was a slow process, but I took my time.

In the process, I learned more about my new abilities from each patient. As I grew accustomed to syncing my heartbeat with others to heal them, I began to pick out signs and indications through my sense of heartfire. Depending on different rhythms and pulses, I could detect a person’s ailments to a notable degree.

After all, lifeforce was the body’s purest baseline. If the body was ailing, one’s lifeforce reflected that.

Furthermore, each time I used my lifeforce to heal, my own waned slightly. This had happened when I healed myself in the undead zone as well, but in the aftermath, the fire in my chest had rejuvenated itself. I remembered Aurora’s first lesson on heartfire so long ago: everyone had a baseline of heartfire tied to their lifespan, but there was an excess that could be manipulated and pulled.

So long as I didn’t cross the threshold of that excess, I wouldn’t hurt myself. I had a feeling I’d be able to sense that border once I neared it, like how a limb begins to ache from overuse.

As I’d worked, each person I’d healed allowed a new room to open up. I ignored the wide-eyed looks of volunteers who were once familiar, many watching in awe or consternation at my healing abilities. I had a mission, and explaining to these people how I was healing was pointless.

Slowly, the victims of the blithe torture were carted in, refilling the clinic. I lounged outside one of the rooms, my back pressing against the wall as I crossed my arms.

Using this new aspect of my power was draining in a unique way. It strained not just my mind and body, but my emotional energy as well. I didn’t even know that part of myself could be so tired.

My healing was far more effective if I could find a common thread of understanding with a person. It worked in a similar vein to my intent-based music, but instead of pushing everyone to sympathize with my emotions, I also had to understand my patient. If I wanted to heal a deep wound or injury, I needed some connection with the person to work from. But after constantly trying to understand a dozen different strangers to heal them on a deeper level, my own emotions were left wrung out.

I watched as the little girl I’d helped earlier was finally carted into a room. Those eyes still watched me as she disappeared behind a curtain.

I swallowed, then pushed off the wall, entering the girl’s room and sitting in a nearby chair. She held out her thin hand silently, and I took it in a gentle grip.

I wondered what she was feeling right now. She was certainly terrified. In pain, too. But her eyes only conveyed that singular, desperate cry for help.

My healing had only given her a momentary reprieve. But was there anything I could do to actually soothe her pains again?

I thought of the most physical pain I’d ever been in. Immediately, I thought of the incapacitating burning that had nearly crippled me in the undead zone after I’d unleashed my Phoenix Will to save Sevren Denoir. That scalding hell had made it impossible for me to even move.

But what this girl suffered from wasn’t just physical. How much had she heard, locked away in that small room? How many screams slowly withered to nothing under her young, innocent ears? How many people did she know in that torture room, each turned into things beyond human recognition?

I suspected the emotional scars ran as deep as the physical ones she would bear.

There was something I could do to ease her pain, I realized after a moment, searching through my dimension ring. After a moment, I withdrew my violin.

I unlatched the case with a pulse of telekinesis, allowing the instrument to float nearby under my control. I kept my fingers interlocked with those of the young girl.

I sifted through my memory, trying to find a song I knew that would be appropriate. Something that could soothe this child’s pains. A lullaby of some sort.

A lullaby. Aurora had sung one to me a while back, hadn’t she? One that was passed through the Asclepius clan? I made eye contact with the mute girl. She didn’t outwardly display anything beyond a desire to cling to my warm hand.

Nearby, my violin, under the precise control of my telekinesis emblem, began to play seemingly of its own accord. A quiet, low rhythm slowly sounded out. I let it pull on my own thoughts as I hummed the words to the lullaby.

Oh, oh oh,

We are all here for you.

We are masters of the sky,

Oh, oh oh.

I played a simple melody; one that didn’t require my utmost focus and skill. I’d never tried to hold my violin music with my emblem, but for the first time, I saw the girl’s face shift. Her small mouth changed into the shape of an ‘o’ as she looked wonderingly at the violin playing on its own. Her hand clenched around my own, the grip somewhere between fear and anticipation.

Go kiss your young farewell, my dear,

Go sleep, you child, there’s no need to fight.

Birds and wraiths dance without fear.

They feel their joy while the day is bright,

And drift in silence when we are here.

But my music was more than effective. As my intent pulled on the ambient mana in the air, the lullaby instilled my own mind with a sense of peace. Using that, I pushed it outward, hoping from the depths of my soul that this child could feel the same. Her eyes drooped.

If you are happy, you’ll find peace first,

You work your way to a life filled with gold.

If you have hope, it will quench your thirst,

And leave you well, that’s what I’m told.

The song finished quietly, the child’s grip slackening in my palm as sleep claimed her. Her eyes finally closed, her breathing evening out once more.

So much tension in one so small, I thought, the peace I’d felt fleeting. I quietly extracted my hand from the girl’s loose fingers. I don’t even know her name, I thought morosely. Would she ever be able to tell me? Or would she remain mute forever, broken by what she’d witnessed?

“That was beautiful,” a voice said from the side. I jumped, startled by the noise. I turned, surprised to see Renea Shorn standing near the curtain separating this room from the rest of the clinic. “I do not think… No, I’ve never seen such magic,” she continued, her eyes on my violin.

I blinked. I’d set up a sound barrier to try and mask the noise of my music, but that didn’t really work if someone deliberately passed that line. Furthermore, Lady Shorn was practically a blank to my normal senses due to her cloaking artifact, making it difficult for me to detect her at all.

Had she heard everything I played? I wondered absently, staring at the woman.

“Thank you,” I said, quietly stowing my instrument back into my dimension ring. “It’s something I developed myself,” I said honestly. “Magic is always used for violence and killing. I thought it could be used for something better.”

Renea Shorn took a few steps forward, nearing the bed. She looked at the child, the edges of her hard exterior softening. I imagined the scene would make a poignant painting: the reaper in all her deathly beauty coming to take an ailing child to the next life.

“What is it,” she said at last, “That you aim for, Lord Daen?”