Toren Daen

“The beasts of the Indrath clan failed millennia ago,” the djinn said with iron. His long, graying hair was pushed away from his face, highlighting his sharp, aged features. “You came here for insight? You’ll get none from me. The asura have tried and tried to wrench our powers from our minds, but they’ve all failed.“

I scoffed. “I don’t need your insight into aether,” I said angrily. I’d gone to such lengths to heal this djinn, and the only response I’d received was hostility. It boiled my insides. “But I do need answers. About the Relictombs and their–”

“Speak, phoenix,” the djinn said, ignoring me and cutting off my reply. “I know how your kind views ‘lessers.’ These pawns of yours can spout the lies you’ve told them, but you will speak to me yourself. Put away the mask.”

Lady Dawn’s lip curled with distaste. “You think them my pawns? Your people have always been insightful, djinn. Yet now you spout the same small-minded rhetoric of the dragons you hate so much. Toren Daen is no more my pawn than a chick is a mother hen’s puppet.”

The djinn smiled nastily. “You assert you don’t use mortals as pawns? Then how come you’ve created this phoenix-djinn hybrid to traverse our Tombs?” His face fell into something dark. “And you took the body of my friend to do so. I know the abilities of your kind, phoenix. How you build yourselves up from the ashes. And Andravhor’s touch is entrenched in this man before us. You dare to enter here after using his body to your own ends? And preaching of being a mother.”

Aurora blurred. One second her glowing, translucent form was behind me, the next it held the side of the djinn’s head in a five-fingered grip. I smelt the sizzling of burnt flesh as her hand clenched around the djinn’s skull. “I have been lenient toward your disrespect, djinn, for those I’ve long held dear,” she said quietly, a quiet pulsing of intent flattening the grass around us. I remembered the first time I’d pushed the phoenix and the full weight of her King’s Force pressing me into the floor. “But I will not tolerate such blatant contempt any longer. Not even for all those I’ve loved.”

The ancient mage looked up at her without flinching under her King’s Force. Sevren stumbled nearby, and I had to hold onto my First Phase to stand tall. And still, I knew she was holding back.

The djinn stared into Aurora’s burning pits. Over our bond, I felt that same discomfort of being peeled apart. The djinn’s eyes bored into Lady Dawn’s inscrutable suns, peeling back layer upon layer of mana and aether.

Then he barked a short, amused laugh, his head still held by Aurora’s grip. “By Entropy, he loved you! Andravhor, that fool!“

Aurora’s phantasmal body went rigid.

“What a bleeding heart he had,” the djinn said, staring at Lady Dawn’s chest. If there were not already a gaping void there, I was certain his stare would burrow straight through her incorporeal flesh. “To give away his body to you in your mutual death. And then for you to pass it on further to the Twinsoul among us? The absurdity…”

The phoenix’s grip slackened, a wave of restrained emotion roiling under the surface. “He was my husband,” she said quietly, matching the djinn’s intrusive stare with her own. “My star in the night. The light in the cosmos. And as he reached the end of his mortal life, he gave up his own body to me, so that I would carry a piece of him with me forever. And I will not allow you to insult his legacy.”

My bond released the djinn, pushing him back. I didn’t understand how her normally incorporeal form could interact with this ancient aether-wielding mage, but there was a clear handprint burned into his wrinkled face. Aurora swept around imperiously. Her face was carefully blank, but those burning pits she called eyes flared with the restrained force of a supernova.

I reached a hesitant hand out, sensing her discomfort at the confrontation, but she ignored it. Her body fuzzed as it reached me, and I got the sense she had drifted into my core; or whatever she did to rest.

Are you okay? I asked. My bond was already so tired. I’d finally learned how Aurora had acquired blood of the djinn, but the pain associated with the event picked at old scars.

“It is nothing, Contractor,” the asuran shade conveyed. “I must simply rest. These confrontations sap further life from me with every touch.”

I looked up at the djinn. His face was healing at a notable pace, a hard set to his jaw as he looked at Sevren and me.

“It’s clear I’ve missed much,” the aged djinn said, exhaling softly and looking to the sky. “I need to convene with the Collective. Understand what I’ve missed in these past ages of madness.”

Before I could ask what the Collective was, I felt a shift in the ever-present clawing attention that clawed at my every orifice. I shuddered, my eyes darting around as it receded.

“No,” Aurora thought, still watching despite her tiredness. “It is not receding. It is changing focus.”

The djinn spasmed a moment, his eyes flashing a deeper purple. “Our resting place is failing,” he said into the sky. “For so long has our lifework lay untouched. None came to learn from our final insights. This place has failed, hasn’t it?”

His mind isn’t as whole as I thought it to be, I realized. He jumps from emotion to emotion in rapid succession, struggling to keep a firm hold on a single one. And the sentience of the Relictombs… Somehow, he’s able to interact with it. Take knowledge from it.

And the presence wafting off the ancient mage wasn’t the same as King’s Force or even the Intent I was so familiar with. Yet something in the air pushed against me like flowing water, evoking a sensation of power. But this wasn’t blunt, brutal power from King’s Force. Nor was it the complex weave of emotions I could thread with intent. This evoked a sense of vastness. Like an insect suddenly viewing the wide-spanning continent, or the Earth from on high.

Despite all the magic I’d faced in this second life of mine, very little of it felt truly mystical to me for some reason. Every action; every spontaneous flame, conjured sound barrier, and forceful psychic shove had an understandable phenomenon behind it. I felt awe in the face of impressive feats of magic, but rarely did I feel in the presence of anything divine.

But this djinn, even in his broken state, emanated something beyond anything I’d felt before. Not more powerful, per se, but simply other. A step above.

“It hasn’t failed,” Sevren said suddenly. His words pulled my mind from the strange trance I’d entered, drawing my thoughts like molasses. His white hair flowed strangely under the aetheric presence. “Your dimensions are designed to convey insight into aether, right?” He shot me a nervous glance. “Someone has succeeded in that. Toren Daen.”

The djinn looked at me. I narrowed my eyes, those knowing orbs taking far more from me than I was comfortable with. As he spent more time standing, he seemed to gather himself further.

“Toren Daen,” the djinn said, their voice echoing strangely. “My name is J’ntarion. One of the Watchers, tasked to wait for a descendant to grasp our knowledge. To guide them in our ways and culture; so that it may endure. In death, all my brethren have melded with the latent sentience of the Relictombs. I am the last of my order.” He tilted his head. “Though perhaps not the last of my race. Thanks to asura, no less,” he said with shielded contempt. “How amusing that is.”

Aurora simmered slightly, but I got the feeling she was too tired to make an issue of the insult.

“What?” Sevren said, clearly able to function better in this aetheric fugue than I was. “Not the last?”

The djinn closed his eyes. The purple light still bled through. “We were wrong not to resist our own destruction,” he said, his words like smoke on the air. “Too long did we cling to ideals of peace and pacifism. And the oppressor always wins in the face of the restraint of the oppressed. This is what becomes of those who keep to pacifism.”

I felt an instinctual urge to reject that idea, the passion streaking through my awe. “You can’t dismiss five millennia of prosperity because of one tyrant,” I said, surprised by my boldness. “What your people achieved couldn’t have been managed without collective cooperation.”

J’ntarion looked at me, and I saw his age once more. He was like a piece of ancient pottery. There was an innate elegance and beauty to his movements, but the dust was also laid bare. Too long had this immaculate piece been uncared for. Abandoned. Left to decay.

“I do not dismiss my people’s accomplishments, Twinsoul,” the ancient mage said with a shake of his head. “But the avenues we took for cooperation assured our own downfall. If we were to risk contacting other asuran clans, perhaps we could have affected Lord Indrath’s powerbase. Or perhaps we could have retreated from our Faircities sooner. Or maybe we could have created something that would dissuade even the King of the Dragons from moving against us in the first place.” Then the djinn shook his head. “But perhaps that would make his slaughter of my people seem justified. I shall never know. Our own forcefully narrowed perspectives denied us these opportunities until it was already too late.”

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The air was still in the wake of the ancient mage’s lament. Inwardly, I tried to think of something I could say to offer some sort of comfort. To give this mage hope, or perhaps a reassuring gesture. Despite the alien presence pervading the space, this djinn’s sorrow was as familiar to me as any other human emotion.

But it all felt empty. What could I say that could ease the loss of millions? When every mother, father, sister, and brother were burned for simply understanding more than a jealous god? My words would not bring J’ntarion’s family back. No word I uttered would make up for thousands of years of lost beauty and life.

The djinn’s shoulders squared as he visibly steeled himself. “But that is not why you healed me, is it Twinsoul? You did not come here to listen to an old mage lament his loss. No, you came for something else.”

While grateful for the shift in topic, I still felt a strange sort of helplessness. I had dozens–no, maybe hundreds of questions I wanted to bombard the djinn with. How did gravity function in this contained pocket dimension? How did the djinn know of other worlds? Was there a way I could travel between Alacrya and Earth at will?

And at the forefront of it all was a question that seared hotter than Aurora’s eyes. It roiled between my temples with a heat surpassing any fire spell.

Would I change this world for the better?

I tapped my foot nervously, trying to center myself. This chance felt like once in a lifetime, and I needed to use it wisely.

No, I thought. Once in two lifetimes.

The djinn was watching me expectantly, those eyes of his piercing my very soul. On some level, I knew he was waiting for me to ask. To say something.

“That phoenix feather,” I started, deciding on my first question, swallowing my immediate urge to ask that one searing question instead. “The one you left for me. Could you tell me where you got it?”

The djinn cocked his head, the edges of his lips turning into a frown. “It was given as a gift,” the djinn said in reply. “By the arrogant Prince of the Asclepius Clan. In turn for the truth of my people’s genocide, he left it behind for me.” J’ntarion looked at my core, his eyes piercing a line straight through. “I never understood why before. It was a paltry sum for alleviating his ignorance. But it seems it has been put to use, hasn’t it? There are now others besides just Indrath and Vritra.” The djinn looked at Sevren Denoir, causing him to take a step backward. “And what are you here for, Artificer? You seek answers too, do you not?”

Sevren shuffled. His face was pale as he was faced with this eventuality. I wondered what thoughts he cycled through. How long did he debate each question? Would he regret which one he voiced? Some part of us both knew that we wouldn’t get another chance at this. He needed to make his words count. Something he wouldn’t regret.

“Our people are still oppressed by the asura, ancient one. Not the dragons. But the basilisks of the Vritra clan. We are pawns to them; groups to test and experiment on. You know, don’t you?” The white-haired striker grew quiet. He looked up. “My tutor was a kind woman. She’d been employed by my Blood for over fifty years, teaching generation after generation of our scions how to read. How to interact. How to live.” Sevren closed his eyes. “She was taken by the Sovereigns for their experiments. I never saw her again. And I live with the knowledge it can happen to anyone for any reason.” He walked up to the djinn, before falling on his knees before the ancient mage. “Anyone in my family can be taken for the Vritra’s sick games.” He looked up at the djinn like a believer seeking supplication. “And aether can do anything. Anything.”

The djinn’s eyes traced over Sevren’s form. My heartbeat began to accelerate as I waited with bated breath for the ancient mage’s response.

Arthur had never spoken with a true djinn in his times in the Tombs, only Remnants lacking critical pieces of information. Here was someone whose understanding of the world dwarfed any I’d met.

I felt a part of me yearning to ask another question. One I wouldn’t dare utter in front of even Sevren Denoir. Could I change this world?

Distantly, thunder rumbled.

“As you are, you will never master aether,” the djinn said coolly, his words cracking across Sevren like a blade. “This spellform of yours, the one that allows you to grasp the innate purpose of artifacts and mechanisms, is a limit. Aether cannot be understood by discovering everything it is not, Artificer. There is no single intention to Entropy. It is everything and it is nothing. Your very methods are flawed.” The djinn spared me a glance. ”Twinsoul’s understanding of aether is limited by itself, and I suspect he grasped Truth simply because of his outside perspectives of innate energies–or lack thereof–providing him an advantage.”

Sevren wilted. “You say I’ll never master aether,” the striker said, looking at the ground with a void in his eyes. “I’m doomed to fail, aren’t I? Destined to?”

I felt my throat constrict. Sevren would die in these Relictombs, wouldn’t he? His corpse would be dissolved by a massive millipede, leaving nothing left. Nothing but his dagger and cloak.

And I’d already taken the dagger.

I walked forward stiltedly, laying a hand on Sevren’s back as tears gathered in his eyes. The djinn loomed like a statue above us both, barely any movement coming from his form. Far in the distance, rain began to fall over the unending plains.

I’m sorry, I thought, clenching my eyes shut. I’m sorry, Sevren. I’m sorry for your future.

“Your Fate is no longer destined for failure alone,” the djinn said to Sevren. Though J’ntarion looked through the white-haired striker, I felt his attention on me. “There are routes to a better future. Ones that you can affect that would not be possible without your touch. It is always possible to caress the fabric of the universe, if only you know how.” The djinn knelt down in front of Sevren, resting a hand over his core. “And I can give you a helping hand for that future.”

The spellforms along the djinn’s hands alit with purple power, thrumming as tendrils of aether probed at Sevren’s sternum. Slowly, a new rune etched itself over the white-haired striker’s chest, blazing a deep violet. “With this spellform, you may visit any zone you have seen before,” J’ntarion said, still kneeling. The white-haired striker looked at his own chest with a fascination that was between terror and awe. “Our resting place was designed to allow challengers to traverse the same zones multiple times, but our compasses have been lost to time. This shall give you a chance.”

The djinn exhaled, and suddenly, his cheeks looked far more hollow. His skin seemed to sag. I abruptly realized I couldn’t sense his lifeforce any longer, some sort of cloaking effect preventing my senses from piercing the veil. I raised a hand, but the ancient mage shoved it away.

“Keep your healing to yourself, Twinsoul,” the djinn said, his breath ragged. “My time has long been approaching. You only extended the end. You and your accursed Bond.”

J’ntarion stood, standing tall despite his pink-toned body visibly aging. Wrinkles seemed to crease his skin in real time, akin to fabric folding itself or trenches opening in oceanic crust. “One last thing, Artificer. Show Twinsoul the ‘relic’ you wield. It will benefit you both.”

Sevren didn’t seem to hear. He was too busy looking at his hands, his jaw agape.

“Wait,” I interrupted, recognizing what was coming. “Will these Tombs still be so affected by my presence?” I asked, thinking of the undead zone. “Will others be drawn into such zones again?”

The djinn’s breathing was becoming more ragged. The infusion of lifeforce I’d given him was only a temporary fix. “You and your pretentious Bond need not worry about such things any longer,” he said with a dismissive, slightly condescending huff. “The Collective–barely sentient as is–did not know how to react to your presence. It will not happen again, especially once I meld with it as the last djinn to do so.”

Aurora chose that moment to appear, the Unseen World washing over my vision. She watched the last djinn of the Relictombs, her sunlit eyes hard. He returned the stare, a pinched look on his wrinkled, pink brows. “Are you so willing to accept the Beyond?” my bond questioned. “To depart into what comes next?”

The djinn laughed. “So like you phoenixes, to fear death,” he said with amusement, his body seeming to bleed away its color. “You fight and fight to survive, building yourselves from the brink. Always resisting the end. Yet despite your control of your own bodies, you were never known as the People of Life.” His pigments fuzzed out further. “We valued life because of what we could create. New experiences; new joys, new wonders.”

J’ntarion stumbled backward. I moved to catch him, but it was surprisingly Aurora who did so, her normally incorporeal form slowly lowering him to the ground. “You don’t understand, phoenix,” he said with a cough. “We always contribute to filling Entropy in the end. But the truest wrong is cutting away that chance to build upon the collective. To be killed prematurely is the greatest tragedy a djinn can experience. But my death is far from premature.” He exhaled. “I’m old,” he said, his eyes becoming a bit glassy. “The last of the Watchers. Waiting for thousands upon thousands of years for the slight chance of a descendant. How ironic is it that my hope comes from the dreadful asura who wiped us out?”

Sevren stood next to me, watching the scene with a complicated expression. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He seemed to be struggling to comprehend all that had happened in the past few minutes.

I didn’t blame him. I knew the Relictombs had their own bare sentience, but I’d gotten a name for it now. The Collective. And from what the djinn implied, Sevren’s Fate–which I thought inevitable–had been broken.

That meant other eventualities could be changed. I could change this world. My actions would have consequences. Real ones.

Watching this djinn die caused a strange, convoluted knot to clench in my chest, clashing with the tingling euphoria of my changes being confirmed. The two battled for dominance in my mind; each trying desperately to overwhelm my thoughts.

“Twinsoul,” the djinn’s ragged voice rang out. “Come here.”

I stumbled forward, kneeling by this ancient being’s side. “What is it? What do you need of me?” I asked, caught between a sort of reverence and pity.

“You want to know how the djinn maintained our peace?” he said breathily, his eyes unfocused. No longer did they pierce every veil. Now they were only dull pinpricks of purple. “How we avoided shedding blood for half a dozen millennia?”

I swallowed. “Tell me,” I quietly begged. “Please.”

“Closer, Twinsoul. Closer,” he eked out, each breath carrying the dust of centuries. Aurora held him gently, her hands no longer burning him.

I leaned closer, moving my ear so it was over his cracked and broken lips.

The djinn’s skin sagged even further, tightening around his bones. He looked like a corpse long buried, even as he still spoke. “It begins with understanding,” he said quietly, his words a whisper. “And you are already following the path. That of connection and emotion shared. To convey the fullness of self.” His gnarled hands grasped my own. “Do not let it go.”

I felt tears threaten the edges of my eyes as a storm raged beyond our safe haven. The pulse of thunder reverberated through my bones. “I won’t,” I promised. “I won’t let peace die with you.”

I thought I saw a glimmer of something in those fading eyes, but I wasn’t sure.

And so it was, at the eye of the storm in a Tomb long prepared, the heartfire of the last of the Watchers was finally extinguished.