Toren Daen

Renea seemed out of place in this clinic. Where the walls were a bleached white with old paint creating an atmosphere of sterility, the leader of Bloodstone Elixirs was a vision in black. She stood out as a dark spot amidst a panorama of light.

“What do I aim for?” I echoed the woman’s words. “That’s a more complicated question than you think it is, Lady Shorn.”

Renea sat down in a nearby chair–one reserved for visitors–and faced me directly. “We have time, Lord Daen. You are an enigma; one I wish to unravel. At first, I suspected you aimed for glory. Why travel through the Relictombs otherwise? Then you rejected my offer of support, claiming you don’t wish to be tethered to another’s power. Now you spend hours of your time tending to strangers in an empty clinic. You ache for the wounds of these people as if they were your own.” She tilted her head. “It is not glory you seek; that much I know. So what is it?”

I tapped a finger against my thigh. “You’ve seen what this place is like,” I said after a moment. “No water. No shelter. Every other person you see is one missed meal away from starving to death.”

“So you wish to elevate these people?” the demure woman asked. “Feed them? Clothe them?”

I furrowed my brow. “Yes and no,” I replied. “I’m just one man. I’m a powerful mage, but I can’t do it all myself. It’s the infrastructure that’s doomed these people. The system itself grinds them into the dirt. So what if I eliminate a family that distributes blithe? A greater power will just mosey on in,” I said with a disdainful snort.

That was what happened with the Joans, after all. I cut the problem out at its root, but the parent plant came to roost next.

“If you were to accept my previous offer,” Lady Shorn said, “Those goals could be met. Bloodstone Elixirs is powerful, Lord Daen. We could distribute clothes. Food. Water. Everything these people need to survive and keep their bellies warm.”

Beside me, the young girl shifted in her sleep.

I frowned. “And that would be dependent on joining you, then?” I said with a hint of disdain. “You’ve finally found what I want, and now you give me an offer I can’t refuse? Binding those I care for to your leash?”

The woman shook her head slowly. “No,” she said. “If I were in your position, I would not accept that offer, either.”

I stilled. “You were just trying to convince me that your help would be good for these people,” I said, confused by the dark-haired CEO’s constant wordplay. ”You make me an offer, then tell me I shouldn’t accept?” I said through clenched teeth.

Lady Shorn ignored my question, inspecting the sleeping girl for a long moment. Then she turned back to me, and the look in her eyes seemed to dig into my soul. “I see that resentment you keep hidden in your eyes. Some part of you hates me, deep down. Why is that?”

I tapped my foot, the pale woman’s words disrupting the careful equilibrium I’d reached from playing the violin. “You gave Karsien Dornar Joan’s name and pointed him in the right direction,” I said, measuring each word. “Set him on a path to taking ‘Flint’ down. All the while, Blood Joan distributed their death drug. Then you send letters afterward, congratulating us on our success. Then the Doctrination sweeps in, making life hell for even more. And you only intervene when you think you can get something from me.” I felt my eyes smolder as I stared down Renea Shorn. “You’re playing politics with the lives of all these people. People I care for. And all for what? So you can collect us into your company?”

Lady Shorn brushed a lock of midnight hair behind an ear. “I’m a creature of politics, Lord Daen,” she replied. “I array my pieces on the Sovereign’s Quarrel board, laying them bit by bit. I am selfish, in my own way. But there is something you misunderstand.”

“And that is?”

“You see my methods,” she said, “But assume my motives.”

I exhaled sharply through my nose, calming my nerves. “Then tell me what you want, Lady Shorn,” I bit out. “You’ve been content to try and dissect my own person these past few hours. The least you could do is reciprocate.”

Renea crossed her hands over her stomach. “You wish to help these people, Lord Daen. But some part of you recognizes why you will fail.” I narrowed my eyes in irritation, but the woman forged on. “You are one man. There are thousands living in this district, and no matter your own personal abilities, you will never help them all. Perhaps your next assumption is that you need manpower and resources, such as the ones Lord Denoir or I could provide.”

I opened my mouth to continue, but Renea cut me off. Her face was pinched in a way I hadn’t seen before, passion seeping through her unflappable mask. “But you would be wrong. Even if I or your highborn friend were to pour all our resources into this small district, fundamentally, nothing would change.”

“And why is that?” I snapped back, standing up. If Bloodstone Elixirs had intervened months ago, none of this would have happened. Hundreds of people suffered from blithe addiction because of their inaction. Mardeth tortured dozens of people at his leisure because nobody with power tried to stop him. “Are you going to make an excuse for why you, with all your power, couldn’t intervene sooner? To wash yourself of the guilt of this?” I said angrily, gesturing to the girl on the bed.

Renea stayed seated, but her emotions seeped from her mask. For the first time, I felt something in the ambient mana. A lacing of intent broke through the woman’s absurdly powerful cloaking artifact. It tasted sour and dark; the color of anger and… Something else. What else was she feeling? Was that resolve?

“Perhaps these people would live happier lives for a time,” Lady Shorn said in measured words. “Maybe they’d even be happy. Grow and expand. But you were right about something else, Lord Daen. It’s the system that breaks these people. I can feed and clothe and shelter, but if these people are bound to the same wheel that breaks them on every turn, then nothing will change!”

I stalled, surprised by the outburst. I hadn’t known the dark-haired woman long, but rarely did she seem so passionate. I could feel it in her intent, which I wasn’t sure she realized was seeping past her cloaking artifact.

“I’ve tried what you suggest before,” she said quietly. “Maybe if I flushed the downtrodden with resources and wealth, people would rise up on their own. Push past their barriers. They could support themselves better. But that’s treating the symptom, not the problem. I learned this. Instead of people leading better lives, the powerful swoop in like vultures sensing carrion, ripping apart anything I try to set up. Or sometimes, the oppressed become entirely dependent on my own systems instead of those the highbloods institute. And then people are left worse than when I started. They are simply dependent on a different tyrant.”

Lady Shorn stood up, moving to square off with me so her face was nearly a foot from my own. This close, I caught the scent of her perfume. It clashed with the sterile smell of bleach and death in the clinic. Her breath interlaced with my own. She looked up at me, her eyes searching my own for something. “So I changed my tactics, Lord Daen. I don’t flush these slums with resources. Instead, I give the people here the ability to fight. To rip apart the system themselves. To show those at the bottom that they can rise to the level of those at the top. That is what I did with your Rat. And that is what I’ve tried to do with you.”

The woman’s face was flushed from restrained irritation, her breathing ever-so-slightly stilted as she stared up at me from so close. I exhaled, stunned by her words. She… She actually cared. She wanted what was best for those here in East Fiachra. It wasn’t just what she displayed on her face and in her tone. Her intent–detectable only by me–weaved around us in an undulating pattern, reinforcing her thoughts.

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“You care,” I said in wonder, my eyes wide. “I thought…” I struggled to try and find words for what I was feeling.

Lady Shorn seemed to realize how close she was to me. That mask of hers slowly reformed, the cracks of emotion sealing over with fluid apathy. She took a single step back and visibly settled herself.

“Forgive me, Lord Daen. I let my emotions get the better of me.” She smoothed out her dark dress. “But I hope my point has been made. I could have rushed in here earlier, playing the philanthropist. But the people here would never learn to fight for themselves.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us. I closed my eyes, thinking of what the demure woman had just said. If Renea Shorn had eliminated the Joans the moment they started distributing blithe, what would have happened?

The Rats would never have formed, for one. Naereni would not have the burning drive to see East Fiachrans freed. Karsien would probably still be galavanting in the Relictombs with Hofal. Wade would work endlessly in his job, never pulling his family from the slums.

And I would never have come to this world.

I wasn’t sure if I agreed with Lady Shorn’s methods. Part of me still thought she could be doing more for these people. But ultimately? She cared.

I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until now.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I said after another moment, allowing my emotions to cool as well. “I’m not at my best right now.”

Renea turned to look at the young girl. “Neither of us are, Lord Daen,” she said. “I have seen many, many horrors in this world. But few were as… Wantonly brutal as what I saw today. It has left me unbalanced.”

I felt my mana roil at the thought of what I’d seen. The shock and horror washed away over the last few hours, leaving simmering anger in its place. I thought of Mardeth’s sly, sly grin. His slippery voice and foul magic.

I was growing so fast in my powers. Yet it seemed I couldn’t grow fast enough.

I shouldn’t blame Renea, I thought, keeping tight reins on my mana. How many more would have suffered at Mardeth’s hands if she had not intervened? Earlier today, I said I was content to wait. Yet that would have condemned this young girl.

A comfortable silence stretched between the two of us, only intermingled by the sound of the child’s raspy breathing. She’d been put on a basic IV when she was wheeled in.

“I don’t think I ever got your final answer,” Lady Shorn said. “What do you aim for, Lord Daen?”

My response was a lot more sure this time. “I want to make things better,” I said, latching onto what Renea had said earlier. “I don’t want children to starve. I want every man to be able to have a roof over his head. And I don’t want highbloods walking over everyone.” I paused, thinking of the Frost twins. They’d been corralled into a strange sense of what a noble should be, allowing it to cloud their vision. They weren’t bad people, just misguided. “And I want highborns to see another option, too,” I added quietly. “We’re all people on this continent. It’s probably foolish to wish for peace, but another path aside from oppression can’t be too much to strive for, can it?”

Deep down, I knew what I wanted was impossible so long as the Sovereigns ruled. I remembered an old Chinese folktale from my time on Earth. A hundred venomous creatures were sealed together in an urn, forced to fight for their survival. The survivor would have the most potent venom of them all, having survived the grueling fight for life against all contenders and taking all the venom into itself.

To the Vritra, Alacrya was no different from that urn. Thousands of mages were forced into a brutal struggle to climb the social ladder. Those who made it to the top were the most potent of all.

I kept these thoughts to myself. One day, the Sovereigns would bleed. I might sound naive to the woman in front of me, but with my future knowledge…

“It is not foolish to wish for ideals,” Lady Shorn said. “What is foolish, however, is only maintaining the same failing methods in the face of obstacles.”

I thought of my reluctance to kill upon first waking up in this world. The sensation of a scalpel cutting flesh was almost seamless: you slowly drew the edge along the skin, allowing a cut that would hopefully save a life in the long run. Driving a dagger through something’s heart, however? You felt your weapon shear through flesh. The sensation traveled up your weapon, resonating in your arms and bones and muscles.

But it was something I had to do. I couldn’t cling to the lofty ideals of refusing to kill. As Renea said, I had to change in the face of different circumstances.

“So what methods would you recommend?” I asked after a moment. “Mine clearly haven’t been effective enough at change.”

Lady Shorn was quiet for a beat of thought. “That music of yours,” she said. “Have you considered playing it for others?”

“I’ve played it for others,” I said, thinking of the time in the Relictombs when I’d finally mastered the art. “They seemed to appreciate it, for what its worth.”

“I think you can do far more with your music than you think,” the dark-haired CEO replied. “It’s not a spellform of some kind, is it? It’s something else you do. You weave your intent through your music. It’s… revolutionary.”

I smiled lightly. “You’re the first to notice that bit about my music without me telling outright,” I said, feeling proud. Lady Shorn was a more adept mage than I expected. “Any mage can do what I do; weaving their emotions through their notes.”

Granted, perhaps not with the same ease and instinctual rhythm as I could, considering my sense of heartfire and affinity for sound magic, but it wasn’t impossible for another mage to learn. That made it special.

“I’ll ask you again, Lord Daen,” Lady Shorn said, stepping a bit closer. “Have you considered playing for others? And I do not mean for a small group of friends or a familial gathering.”

My focus sharpened on the woman in front of me as I finally caught her meaning. Like a concert from my old life or an orchestral symphony, she was asking if I could play to a crowd.

I tried to wrap my mind around that idea. “No, I’d never actually considered it,” I said, feeling a bit giddy.

Renea Shorn’s lips turned up at the edges. “I think I have a new proposal for you, Toren Daen,” she said. “You wish to institute change, do you not? And you have nearly every tool you need. A mindset for the better. A revolutionary medium to carry that message. But you don’t have an outlet to bring that medium to all.”

I stood slowly, anticipation building in my thoughts. My mind followed the tracks Lady Shorn was laying, tracing them to their logical conclusion. I felt a matching smile grow on my face as I stood to meet the demure woman.

“I can provide you with that. Venues, reach, and connections to make your rhythm heard. That is what I can offer you,” the pale woman continued.

Now that the idea had been put in my mind, it felt so obvious. What better way to broadcast my intent to the world? Even with the Sovereign’s boot on the throat of this society, I could still start something in the meantime. If I could allow others to understand me through my music… I could start making those steps, couldn’t I? Start making this world just a bit better?

The reason many highbloods like the Frost twins acted so arrogant and holier-than-thou was that they didn’t truly understand those so far below them in social status. As far as they were aware, unads simply didn’t try hard enough, thus their squalor was deserved. But if my music could instill some true understanding of the circumstances of people like Greahd, Trelza, and even little Benny? Then maybe the attitudes of the nobility might get that push they needed to change.

“You needn’t work for me to accomplish this,” Renea said, looking up at me as a strange sort of resolve flickered in her eyes. “Only with me. As partners in this new endeavor. What say you?”

My end goal was still Nico. I needed to gain the strength required to kill him; to put an end to the Legacy’s reincarnation. This world would not survive a clash between the Vritra and Indrath clans. But while I was a long way away from that final goal, I could do something in the meantime.

I smiled fully. “If we are to work together,” I replied, “I think you should stop calling me Lord Daen. It’s too formal for my tastes.” I proffered my hand to the leader of Bloodstone Elixirs. “Call me Toren.”

Lady Shorn looked at my hand for a moment. For the barest of instances, I thought I might have misstepped. That my dismissal of formalities was enough to change her mind.

Then she took my hand. Her small, delicate fingers interlocked with my own, and I found myself surprised by how firm her handshake was. Her faint, sweet perfume brushed against my senses, seeming to weave perfectly in between the sterile scents of the clinic. “Then it is only right that you call me Renea when we are alone,” she said, squeezing my hand for an instant.

I raised a brow. “Only when we are alone?”

Renea smiled demurely. “I have an image to maintain, Toren. You have yet to earn the privilege of being so familiar with me in public.”

The pale woman withdrew her hand. In its place, my palm felt cold.

“The privilege?” I said with a snort. “You think very highly of yourself, Renea.”

“Am I arrogant, Toren? Or am I simply reasonably confident in my own abilities?” Renea turned, giving the young girl one last look. “Maybe you’ll learn the answer one day.”

The leader of Bloodstone Elixirs swept out of the small room, leaving me with a knot of condensed anticipation in my chest. If this continent could hear my music… Hear my emotions? What would change?