Toren Daen
“Have you made sure to polish your instrument?” a harsh voice asked. “The microfiber cloths we provided should have been more than sufficient.”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Did you practice for twenty minutes this morning, as recommended?”
“Yes,“ came my bland response.
“And did you make sure to keep yourself hidden from the attending guests? We can’t afford for them to see you before your initial reveal.”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, tired.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen Renea since I left her to track down leads in Nirmala. The man in front of me, Denvish, was the event organizer assigned to me by Bloodstone Elixirs. His job was to make sure everything was perfect for my upcoming performance, and he was damn good at his job. Maybe a little too good. From the way he grilled his employees over the smallest details to the constant buzzing presence over my shoulder, he’d quickly become a bother.
The past couple of weeks had been a constant routine of research, violin practice, assimilation, and then more practice.
“Have you made sure to iron your clothes before wearing them today?” the middle-aged man asked once more. “We can’t afford a single wrinkle on your vest.”
He was fond of always claiming, “We can’t afford this,” as if he were somehow part of his internal equation. I’d quickly learned that even if you did everything to the letter, this irritating planner would still somehow find something to gripe about.
I wore a dark gray dress shirt tucked into matching slate-colored trousers. Instead of boots, I wore black Oxford shoes, something I was unused to. The ensemble created a look of sleek elegance; not a stitch out of place. With my hair tied back into a short tail, I looked like a proper gentleman.
But the cherry on top of my current dress was my maroon-colored vest. The custom-made waistcoat was a weave of expensive thread that stood out against the darker colors of my clothes. A stylized insignia was emblazoned in deep orange over my breast and again mirrored in greater scale on the back of the waistcoat.
The sigil of Named Blood Daen had changed. Before, it depicted a simple dagger with rivers of runes streaming from the edge. But I’d been reborn in the Relictombs. My First Sculpting marked something fundamental in my self-evolution; growing into something new. It was only right my Blood insignia shifted to match this change.
When setting out to alter my house insignia, the first thing that flashed in my mind was that strange rune that had appeared over the portal frame in the undead zone when I’d finally imbued it with lifeforce. It was a stylized depiction of a heart, though if one tilted their head, it almost looked like it was ablaze with fire. I’d known, almost instinctually, that it was a runic representation of lifeforce.
I’d taken that rune and integrated it into my new insignia. Now, a dagger thrust through that emblazoned heart. If you peered close enough, you could see a strange hexagonal symbol on the hilt of the knife. The organ leaked runes instead of blood on either side; the same glyphs that had always accompanied Named Blood Daen.
“Your Blood was forged in the Relictombs,” Arlan, the aged Daen steward, had always said. “And that is why you honor it with your sigil.”
How right he was, I thought absently. Not just forged, but reforged. Remade in the Relictombs, like a dagger that is continuously sharpened.
“Are you even listening to me?” a scathing voice cut across my thoughts. I went cross-eyed as Denvish thrust a hand near my nose, snapping his fingers irritatedly. “For someone who is supposed to play music, you are the worst listener I’ve ever met, Lord Daen.”
I pushed his hand out of my face, my nose wrinkling in irritation. “What is it?” I said, my annoyance growing.
“I asked if you had cleaned the inside of your violin case today,” the man said imperiously. His hawk-like eyes narrowed. “But you appeared to be caught in your own little world.”
I sighed wearily. Who the hell cleaned their violin case regularly? I’d bet I was literally the only one simply because of this bastard. “I did, Denvish. Can you please go bother someone else?”
The man opened his mouth, no doubt to admonish me for trying to shoo him away before he spotted something behind me. “Hey!” he called, marching off toward a man who was setting up a tent pole. “You aren’t angling that properly, you fool!”
I groaned in relief, grateful that the man was finally out of the way.
We were currently in a hastily conjured earthen encampment on the Fiachran plain outside the city. The mages hired by Bloodstone Elixirs had done a remarkable job at setting up a mock stadium in record time, raising seats, stands, and an entire stage from the ground. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but with the decorations and little embellishments here and there, the imperfections were easy to look over.
I was currently in a little tent behind the main stage. Considering today was the concert day, I’d been careful to arrive early, well before any prospective crowd. Renea had been true to her word: there wasn’t an entrance fee to listen to my music, though there were seats that were closer to the front of the stage that needed a premium to reserve.
Though that irritated me, it wasn’t a battle I had the time or energy to fight right now.
A shadow darted through the flaps of my tent, wearing a close-fitting black ensemble. They raised their hand dramatically, clearly planning on saying something grand.
“Hey, Naereni,” I said, completely ignoring her theatrics.
The ice mage lowered her hand dejectedly, then took off her Rat mask. “Do you need to be such a spoilsport, Toren?” she asked.
“I just escaped being lectured to by Denvish,” I said. “I am all out of amusement.”
Naereni shuddered. “He caught me sneaking in one time. Instead of throwing me out, he tried to make me decorate the seats!”
“Did it work?” I asked, feeling curious.
Naereni scoffed. “Pfff. No. I left the moment he looked away.”
I snickered slightly. Imagining the small, bulbous man’s irate face going red like a cherry did give me some much-needed levity.
“I got as many people from East Fiachra as I could to leave the city for this,” Naereni started. “They’re already thankful for what you’ve done, so attending this little concert isn’t much for them.”
I smiled genuinely. As the time for the concert drew nearer, my sense for heartfire gave me hints as to how many people were attending. There was a surprising amount. “Thanks, Naereni. Though I’m worried about the sky.”
Today was very, very overcast. From a report Denvish had shoved in my face a few hours ago, I knew a surprise storm was sweeping west across the continent. There had been too much setup to postpone the show, but the clouds overhead looked ominous. The man had ranted about how “This wouldn’t be a problem if you just performed in a theater!”
Naereni shuffled nervously from side to side, something that was unusual for the brash young striker.
“Have you learned anything more about Mardeth’s plans?” she finally asked. “You said a couple of weeks ago that you were chasing a lead.”
I exhaled softly through my nose. Naereni had her own stake in my face-off with Mardeth; one just as personal as my own. It was a blithe overdose that killed her father, after all. “The Vicar of Plague has been experimenting with mixing diluted basilisk blood into his blithe mixtures. I’ve been researching the uses of basilisk blood on elixirs, toxins, and more for the past while, but I’m not a chemist,” I said honestly. “There’s another lead I’ll need to track down soon, but I haven’t had the time.”
Naereni wilted slightly. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked. “I feel so… so helpless in all of this. I’m used to making a difference, you know?”
I stood up, walking over and patting my friend on the shoulder. “Yeah, I understand what you mean,” I said honestly. “But I can’t do all of this alone. And you are making a difference with the Rats, even if it's small.”
“It’s just…” Naereni sighed. “It feels like you’re moving on and up, and leaving the rest of us behind. Wade, Karsien, Hofal and I–we’re trying to keep East Fiachra together. But you’re off dancing with the highbloods.” She didn’t say it in an accusing way. Just sorrowful.
I felt a knot of guilt tie itself in my throat. The first people in this world who had truly been there for me; who had dedicated themselves as my allies and friends, had been the Rats. And it was true that I was drifting away.
I opened my mouth to respond, but Naereni laughed in a self-deprecating manner. “Never mind that,” she said. “I hope your concert goes well.”
She brushed away my hand, sliding out of the tent without another word. I watched her go, feeling like I could have done more.
Aurora’s clockwork puppet perched on the back of a nearby chair. Its burning eyes watched the Young Rat go with what I thought was a complicated expression.
“I still do not trust the intentions of this ‘Renea Shorn,’” Aurora said as the Unseen World washed over my vision. The asuran shade sat in a tall-backed chair, her flowing robes making her seem like some sort of old, martial master. The hole in her chest had stopped bleeding since her recovery. “To go to such lengths to display your music with so little return does not sit well with me.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
As far as I was aware, Renea wasn’t here to see this concert of mine. I felt a momentary stab of disappointment regarding that before I buried it.
You’re thinking about the Rats and how she manipulated them, I posited internally. You think she’s still trying to do the same with me. Manipulate me into some sort of position somehow.
“I do,” Aurora said honestly. “I have not seen the woman myself, but from what you explained to me, she is a deadly tactician. A master strategist. And a mage with a mind for business. And there is not enough profit involved in this for its viability. At least not that I can see. I wish to meet her myself to gauge her intentions.”
I’d told Aurora about the Sovereign’s Quarrel match I’d had with the dark-haired CEO and her deductions regarding my thought process, as well as my initial agreement with Renea in the depths of Trelza’s clinic. I’d insisted that the woman shared a note of idealism akin to my own, but Aurora still maintained her doubts.
Maybe there is another reason for her to sponsor my music, I acknowledged with a sigh. But even if there is a secondary objective she wishes to accomplish, I am certain that it’s not solely due to that. She does have a soft spot in her heart.
Aurora shifted slightly. From the look on her face, I knew she didn’t truly buy it. I was still more idealistic than the phoenix. I wasn’t sure if she saw that as a strength or a weakness.
Before the conversation continued, another familiar figure entered the tent. The Unseen World washed away from my vision as Sevren Denoir approached, looking me up and down.
“You look good in that outfit,” he said appraisingly. “The maroon compliments your hair well.”
I snorted. “Says the man who only wears teal and black,” I retorted. “I didn’t think you knew what fashion was.”
The Denoir heir let himself down into a nearby chair. We’d kept a semi-regular correspondence over the past couple of weeks as I’d been invested in my research and practice. “I have a few more papers on the effects of basilisk blood on mana-imbibed elixirs,” he said, withdrawing a stack of paper from his dimension ring.
With a bare effort of my telekinetic emblem, I latched onto the proffered papers, then drew them into my own ring. “Thanks, Sevren,” I said. I’d quickly run out of comprehensive material at the Fiachran libraries and had called in a bit of a favor from the highblood heir. “Any updates on that spellform of yours?”
My friend had been experimenting and testing the mechanics of his djinn-bestowed spellform these past few weeks as well. He’d gone on several short ascents, marking the ins and outs of what he could do. It mainly allowed him to change the output destination of descension portals, not unlike the djinn compass Arthur would eventually find.
But I didn’t get a response. I frowned, turning to look at the white-haired striker. “Sevren?”
“What exactly is your Bond like?” he asked quietly. “When you connect with… Lady Dawn, how does it feel to you? How does it impact your mind? Your thought process?”
I furrowed my brows, confused by this avenue of questioning. Aurora, piloting her steampunk sparrow, hopped off her chair and glided over to my shoulder. “I do not believe you understand the gravity of what you ask, Artificer,” the little construct said. “The Bond between us is as entrenched as the soul. It runs thicker than blood; deeper than any magic you know.”
Sevren seemed disconcerted by Aurora’s response. “I did discover something new about my spellform,” he said slowly, “But I don’t know how to understand it. And this was the best way I could think of how.”
I leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “What do you mean?”
“This last time I used my spellform, I kept it active for far longer than I usually do. It was the next on my list of tests. How long could I keep a portal active? Would the mana drain remain the same throughout my use of it? That kind of thing.” He inhaled, his fists clenched. “But the longer I kept a portal destination changed, the more I felt something… buzzing in the back of my mind. Something that wasn’t me or my mana.”
“So you’re asking if this is what our Bond is like,” I replied, filling in the gaps. “You think something is connected to you.”
“I know something is connected to me,” the white-haired striker responded, emphasizing the word. “But I have no point of reference for this. The feeling diminished once I got far enough away from the portal, but still,” he said, trailing off.
I sat down heavily in a nearby chair, trying to figure out what this was. Was there another djinn in the Relictombs he was connecting to, somewhere? Or was it some sort of embedded part of that rune?
“I’m afraid runes aren’t my area of expertise in magic,” I replied honestly. “I told you a little while back that my magic is unique. It’s somewhat akin to the Dicathian methods, so I’m not sure what is possible or impossible with runes. But my tether to Lady Dawn isn’t a buzzing. It’s…”
I paused, trying to formulate the words. But how did one describe sight to one who has never seen? Sound to a person who has been deaf their whole life?
“It’s like a whole other sense,” I said, hoping I could articulate this properly. “Like smell. Or touch. But instead of an extension of the body, it's an extension of the mind. A tether that’s always there; one that you recognize by sheer instinct.”
When I’d first felt the presence of my Bond with Aurora, I’d known instantly what it was with an intuitive accuracy.
Sevren was frowning. “It’s not like that. Not nearly as… intimate. But at least that rules out one possibility.” He shook his head. “I get flashes of things, though. Sensations. Visions. Nothing concrete; and it's only when I’m super close to a portal and that connection is the strongest.”
I stilled, looking at Aurora’s puppet. Cautiously, I reached a hand out, caressing the threads of lifeforce my Bond used to pilot the little craft.
If I clenched my hand around them, I was able to see exactly what Aurora was witnessing through the steampunk sparrow. But if my hands simply feathered over those strings instead…
I got brief glimpses. Bursting, still screenshots of my own face flooded my mind, the perspective of the burnished brass bird filtering through.
Aurora caught onto my thought process quickly. “The tether between myself and this relic acts much the same under Toren’s influence,” she said, speaking aloud through the clockwork bird so Sevren could hear. “He is able to influence my own tie to this craft with minimal effect. And perhaps…”
The Denoir heir looked at the bird sharply. As part of his stipulations for allowing Lady Dawn to use this relic freely, Sevren had requested we report all the workings of aether that we could discover from it to him. And it seemed Aurora was eager to pay off that debt. “So you’re saying…”
“At least on the surface,” I breathed out, “It seems what might be affecting you is a tether of heartfire; which is my area of expertise. If you can show me what happens when you’re near a portal, maybe I can–”
I was cut off by aggravated shouting from outside my tent. I recognized one of the voices. “We can’t stop the show!” Denvish snapped. “Sure, the storm might be coming, but all the work we’ve done would be for nothing if we simply pack and leave!”
“Would you rather all those outside get drenched instead?” another voice snapped back. I didn’t know this one, but the edge to it made me rise in apprehension. “We can reschedule to another–”
“No, we can’t,” Denvish said sharply. “Lady Shorn called in more than a few favors to allow this large of a turnout on the first showing. If we were to reschedule, how many wouldn’t be able to attend? Or would refuse to do so, claiming their debts paid?!”
Feeling a nervous buildup in my chest, I stood up, pushing open the flaps to my tent. Just beyond, the rising wall of the stage blocked my view of the seating beyond, but I could feel the hustle and bustle of men beyond with my mana and hearfire senses. The rolling hills of central Sehz-Clar stretched onto infinity in front of me, small forested areas interspersing the range.
Overhead, the sky was dark with storm clouds. They must’ve rolled in over the past half hour or so, coating the sky in a blanket of deep gray. I swallowed, looking up at those clouds in the growing gloom.
If it rains, I thought, realization creeping up, If it storms, I won’t be able to play. My chance will be washed away with the rainwater.
Denvish was redfaced, arguing fervently with another man I did not recognize. From the elegant attire he wore, I recognized him as another organizer of the event.
“What’s going on?” I interrupted, drawing the attention of both men.
“You’re going to have to reschedule your little concert, Lord Daen,” the man I didn’t recognize said, brushing off his suit and giving me a polite bow. He had a hawklike nose that stood out as he spoke. “With the imminent storm, it’s pointless to keep these people here any longer.”
I stayed silent as Aurora’s clockwork relic fluttered out of the tent, landing on my shoulder. Sevren came out a moment later, looking concerned.
“We can’t afford it!” Denvish bit out. “All the favors our Lady has leveraged for this single day can’t be wasted!”
“Don’t fool yourself, Denvish,” the other man said. “If you would bother to check, you’d notice that Blooded families are already leaving the little stadium. They don’t want to get drenched by rainwater.”
I looked up, trying to hone in on my sense of mana. I cast my attention to the side, trying to get a feel for what was happening beyond the tall-backed stage of solid earth.
The hawk-nosed presenter was right. Some people were already beginning to leave. Through the weave of ambient intent, I could sense their displeasure. Their annoyance. Their irritation.
I sank into a nearby chair, grasping my head in my hands. I took a deep breath, feeling a wave of disappointment flush through me. I’d done nothing but practice my art for these past couple of weeks, anxiously awaiting the day I’d be able to play for the masses.
I looked back up at the sky, grinding my teeth. The sky overhead mocked me with its shadow. You may try to show them a path, it said to me. But even the weather works against you. You’ll never give these people another way.
Sensing my plummeting mood, Aurora’s relic form extended a wing to wrap around the back of my head in a gesture resembling a hug. “I am sorry this has happened to you. But all is not lost, Toren,” she said soothingly. “You will have another day to play for the masses.”
With a scowl on his face, Sevren pushed his way toward the arguing event preparers. I heard him introduce himself, a roll of shock splintering through the irritated men. Each of them gave a deep bow as Sevren introduced himself as the heir to Highblood Denoir. He started asking both of them questions about this venue, but it drifted past my ears.
I could feel the people beyond leaving. They funneled out of the mini-stadium in quiet groups of twos and threes.
And I knew these people weren’t rejecting my message. I knew this wasn’t my last chance to make a difference; that this was merely a setback on the road. But each footfall felt like a personal dismissal of what I planned to say.
I felt resolve settling in my stomach. It coiled and churned there, slowly prodding me toward a course of action.
What barrier does the sky hold for me? I thought, standing slowly. Why must I turn and change with the weather?
I began to march, brushing past the three mages as they conversed about something. The hawk-nosed man noticed the direction I was trodding. He hastily broke off from the argument, trailing behind me. “My lord!” he called. “You can’t go up there! Not today!”
His complaints blew past my ears like a feather in the wind; hardly registered. The sky is the domain of the phoenix, I thought, and I felt my Bond react to those words. Where before she had been consoling, now she shifted to encouragement. She sensed a part of my plan. The winds belong to us. They are no barrier to me or my magic.
In a trance not dissimilar to the one I’d experienced when I’d first played my intent-based music, I slowly ascended the steps behind the stage, ignoring the desperate calls of the hawk-nosed organizer.
I had a concert to play.