Beta Read by Infinity21

Toren Daen

I walked up onto the stage. A harsh wind whipped at my hair, the cool end-of-winter draft biting at my skin like a savage beast. You don’t get to have this, the air seemed to say. You are helpless before the tides of nature. Nothing. A speck.

Thunder rumbled overhead, a sign of the sky’s anger as it preluded a storm. I glanced at the deep, dark clouds far above. They still mocked me. But the sky was the domain of the phoenix. The rumbles of the world would not cow me.

I looked over the small stadium in front of me. Two hundred feet of seats thrust up from the earth were like statues awaiting a declaration of war. My eyes scanned over the viewers, scattered across the even layout of the fields. Some were getting up to leave.

Most of those people were of noble houses, and I could recognize a few of the house symbols. They nervously watched the sky, tension rippling through the air. They feared the rain. And why wouldn’t they?

A few mages turned as I stepped onto the stage. A slight glance told me that they were among the stronger men present, but they hadn’t seemed to notice me. They were too intent on leaving. On escaping the coming downpour.

Along the farthest sides, several East Fiachrans shivered in their clothes, watching nervously.

This isn’t just for me, I thought, spotting Greahd in the crowd. It’s for these people as well. So they won’t be shunned.

I couldn’t let them leave without a show.

I pressed outward with a flex of my will into the ambient mana, the wind stilling itself as I imposed myself into the air. For an instant, the storm clouds overhead seemed to hesitate in their predilection of doom. The world knew. It knew that the sky above was mine.

The milling mages stalled, their heads turning as one to regard me. A few reached hands to their weapons, clearly feeling threatened by my display. A few looked affronted that I’d drawn them from their escape. Some watched me with calculating gleams in their eyes. Their gazes brushed past me as I held myself firm.

Look to me, my intent conveyed. I am a blot of white on a canvas of black. You can’t ignore me. The contrast will not allow you.

My aura was not that of violence. It was more akin to an explosion of paint in a room full of well-dressed men. Bright colors, ringing bells, drawing attention and standing out. No matter how hard one tried, they wouldn’t be able to ignore it.

That aura. I took it, molded it in my hands, and imposed it onto the world itself.

Aurora’s clockwork form expanded its wings, screeching into the air. Its echo reverberated through the dark sky, voices and demands stilling as the cry cut through it all.

Everything was still. The calm before the storm; the instant between a lightning flash and a sonic boom. I took a deep breath, feeling my nerves clash inside. All eyes were on me.

“You don’t know me,” I said, my voice spreading through the stadium. “But I am Toren of Named Blood Daen,” I said, allowing my reborn sigil to stand proudly on my chest. “And today was supposed to be a day of music.”

“What are you thinking,” a voice called out, “trying to stop us from leaving when a storm is coming? And we know you, Daen. Why else would we be here?”

My attention, along with the majority of the crowd, shifted to the man who had made the outburst. His clothing was impeccable, his short, dark hair slicked back. A familiar symbol was plastered onto his coat. A Jasper.

Blood Jasper, I recognized. Hofal and I blew up one of their blithe warehouses as they worked with Blood Joan.

I cursed internally. My optimism had blinded me. I hadn’t expected someone to come and try to sabotage the event; at least not so early on.

Aurora’s puppet slowly refolded its wings, staring intently at the Jasper man. I’d wager he was sent to disrupt anything I was trying today. From the gleam in his eyes and the angry mumblings of the many men and women around him, it seemed his plans were working.

I wouldn’t allow it.

“You think you know me,” I said lowly, allowing the slight tinge of menace to carry through the crowd. “But most of you are here not for what was advertised.”

I paused, scanning the many men and women beyond me.

“Some of you wish to gather more intel on me in the aftermath of what I did to the Joans. Some of you are paying back a favor to my patron, Lady Renea Shorn. You hope to wash away your debts to her by attending this little concert.”

A rush of surprise went through some of the guests. My elimination of Blood Joan was an open secret, true, but I’d just publicly admitted to ending their line. Still, others mumbled as I called them out on their true intentions.

“I’m quite aware of this fact,” I said with candor.

The air was almost electric as I continued. I wondered if it was from the crowd’s displeasure, my own power wafting through, or the imminent thunderstorm. I felt a drop of water hit my head, and from how many nobles looked up, I knew they did, too.

The Rats watched with nervous eyes. I couldn’t see Karsien among them, but I knew he was watching. Waiting for something to change.

I threaded mana through my dimension ring, withdrawing the age-old heirloom of Named Blood Daen. My violin settled into my hands, its familiar curves resting in my palm as I withdrew my bow. The scent of polished wood banished the overlaying waft of ozone.

“I doubt many of you are here for what was promised.” I raised my violin to my chin, my bow hovering above the strings. “The music.”

A few more drops of water pinged off my head. Thunder rolled. The weather had halted for me; hesitated as I’d shown my colors. But it was so, so angry. It wouldn’t hold back in its tirade for long.

“Are you going to try and stop us from escaping this storm?” the Jasper man cried. The people around him were tense. Whether from the coming lightning or the tension I’d exerted, I didn’t know. “I’ll have you know that my Blood–”

“You don’t know the storm,” I said, cutting the man off and tilting my head to look up at the sky. The clouds swirled angrily. The treaty I’d arranged with them was almost over. “You want to escape the rain, don’t you? But do you know what it’s like to wade through the storm in an attempt to escape? To truly become one with the water and thunder overhead?”

I drew my bow over the strings lightly, drawing out a slow note as the rain began to drizzle. “I’ll show you what a true escape from a storm is.”

I blocked out the nervous anger of the crowd in front of me; the anticipatory eyes of the Rats and Sevren’s nervous panic on the side. I even pushed away Aurora’s bond in that instant, isolating myself from everything but me.

I remembered a day months past. On one of my first ascents through the Relictombs, I faced a dimension of endless white trees. The gnarled branches sought my blood with an unending determination. Whenever I turned away, they’d reorient, each of their limbs pointing toward my heart.

What had I felt upon first entering that zone? Confusion. Total confusion. Where were the enemies to face? Where was the trial to be overcome?

But as the day stretched on, that confusion shifted to eerie fear. I drew low notes in a slow, ominous tempo, projecting my memories into the ambient intent. Each note was a footfall along that single, empty path. Every spike was a sound deep in the unending woods. And all the while, a storm grew in scale miles in the sky.

I opened my eyes as lightning flashed overhead. The rain came down in earnest now as the weather finally broke past its hesitation, but as I met the eyes of each and every mage in the stadium, I knew something had changed. Their heartbeats were spiking in tune with my music; their breathing elevated as they held onto the edges of their seats. Many of those who had started to leave walked back to their seats in a trance-like state. Their eyes flashed with nervous apprehension.

A rapture was spreading as my intent-based music thrummed through their souls.

As a crack of thunder chased the lightning like a wraith after a fleeing asura, I began to play in earnest.

The rain crashed down, making the stage around me slick. My fingers struggled to maintain their grip as they were soaked by the rain, but I pushed through. The rhythm began to pick up.

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As rain fell in my memories, something changed. The trees birthed their grotesque, demonic young. The fear of facing an unending horde splashed through my music, grasping roots trying to wrench my fingers from my instrument.

I closed my eyes, weaving across the stage. I remembered ducking and pushing past hordes of wood-skinned aether beasts in the desperate struggle for an oasis. Every enemy I’d cut down had revealed three more. The growing fear I’d felt as the storm gathered had finally dropped to bone-breaking terror as an unending horde sought my blood.

I weaved around imaginary enemies as my violin carried my emotions. Quick, fast-paced notes followed every kill. Every near-miss caused a wrenching dip in tempo that could steal away the heart.

Water soaked through my ornate vest, the chill clinging to my skin and demanding to be known. The wretched claw of terror grasped my heart as its own beat sped up. I’d been so vulnerable in that horde. So weak.

Lightning flashed over the stadium as I was bludgeoned with rain, but it was inconsequential in the face of these deep memories. This storm was powerful. It commanded the clouds overhead to gather and bow to its demands. But every drop of water did not spawn a demon from the depths of hell. Every flash of lightning did not herald death.

Two storms churned. One tried its damndest to break me across the stage, the winds whipping and pulling at my soaked clothing as lightning brightened my closed eyelids. Another drew up horrors from the deepest recesses of the djinn’s broken psyche. Thunder pounded against the defenses of my skull like a demented god, the scent of blood and ozone mingling with old ferns.

Through it all, I played. Time lost its meaning as I immersed myself in the memories, my hands seeming to move of their own accord as they remembered the desperate flashes of Oath and Promise in the dark, saber and dagger the only thing keeping the horde at bay. I remembered fighting on that pillar for hours on end, common thought and reason abandoned in the face of the primal dark. Desperation echoed clearly as the phantom pain of the blood dripping down my thigh flashed through my notes.

A storm, both in my mind and out. Trying to break me. Trying to end me. Thunder and lightning crashing down, the wind whipping at my face and hair, the rain stinging as it pelted on my exposed hands and face like a demented child, doing its best to put an end to my song. Hating it with everything in its primal fury.

But in the end, I held through.

Storms were always present; always looming. But they… they passed. When the sky had made her disdain known, then the rays of basking sunlight would kiss the ground, reassuring all left in the wake of the hurricane. That there was a light outside of black clouds. That there was another side of the pain.

Both in my mind and overhead, the rain ceased. The infinite hordes of aether beasts collapsed back to the ground, planting themselves to renew their onslaught. They’d try again should their roots be graced with water once more.

I opened my eyes, gasping for breath as I stared up into the sky. Water dripped down my hair and face, the cold kiss of moisture trying to dig through my soul. My hands fell limply to my sides, both violin and bow nearly forgotten as the break in clouds overhead heralded the end of the downpour.

The world itself seemed to hold its breath. I slowly became aware of the passing of time. I’m not in the Relictombs, I forcefully reminded myself. That zone is gone. You escaped it months ago. It was just a memory.

My leg throbbed in phantom pain. Flashes of blood-red eyes and crimson sap danced in my vision.

My heart was beating at an absurd rate. The adrenaline in my veins tightened my grip, my fingers nearly crushing the violin. Gradually, I recognized other flows of heartfire as they pressed into my ears.

A few hundred hearts throbbed in tandem, but I couldn’t bring myself to look down at them from my stage. The sky demanded my full attention. I thought I caught a flash of an outline in the air far above, but it was just another phantom. Another trick of my weary mind, fearing the wrath of the storm.

A single, resonant clap echoed through the stillness. Then another. And another. Soon, hundreds of hands crashed together in a resonant cluster.

I looked at my audience in a daze, only half-comprehending. Wild eyes met my own from all over. Within them, I saw the same relief that was overwhelming my body. The same gratefulness for the end of the rain. The same desire to push for another day.

Every person in the crowd was dressed differently. House colors reigned supreme as everyone declared their side subconsciously. Even drenched to the bone with water, I could make out distinct, flowing patterns in their garments No doubt many had engaged in brutal politics with each other; ripping and tearing at each other’s livelihoods like rabid dogs.

Yet their hearts beat as one with the bedraggled East Fiachrans to the side. For this barest moment, the rich and the poor felt the same thumping adrenaline coursing through their bodies. The highest and the lowest had a moment of convergence.

They understood each other, if just for a moment. Speaking a language that transcended words.

I raised my arms higher, holding my violin to the sky like an offering to the gods. The applause reached a crescendo, thundering beyond the passing storm.

—

Energy pulsed through my veins as a flex of the ambient fire mana around me warmed the atmosphere enough to ward away the chill that had set into my bones. The show was over.

I tended to my violin with the utmost care, quietly undecided about whether it was a good idea to play in the rain or not. I squinted as I inspected the aether beast hairs. The rosin is gone, of course. But considering this piece is made of magical material and the wood is crafted of clarwood, it isn’t ruined. I won’t have to restring it, but I will have to reapply rosin. That will be a pain. But it’s a far better outcome than destruction.

There was a small crowd waiting around me, more than a dozen anxious feet squelching in the wet ground of the Fiachran outskirts. The Blooded families seemed extremely apprehensive about asking their questions.

And I knew they had many. Their curiosity churned the mana in a way perceptible only to me. But another emotion was interlaced with that overwhelming one.

A hint of fear wormed its way through their emotions. And that was due to a very specific man lounging nearby.

Sevren Denoir carved an apple with Promise a few feet away from me, silently declaring his support. He crossed his legs leisurely as his heels rested on another chair. The symbol of Highblood Denoir stood out prominently on his chest, and his signet ring flashed in the light.

I’m the heir to Highblood Denoir, all of that declared. And I’m standing beside Toren Daen.

Of all the things these nobles were expecting when approaching me, it was likely not the tacit backing of Highblood Denoir. It was a lot like approaching a local band after a show and coming face-to-face with Winston Churchill. Or maybe a Saudi Arabian prince.

But these people’s curiosity was strong enough that they were willing to clash with that indecision.

I saw a man in the crowd begin to push forward. Unlike the others, he wasn’t drenched to the bone with water. From the umbrella he carried under the crook of his arm, I suspected I knew why. Stamped across his chest was a symbol that looked like an old Greek helmet, although it wasn’t as bright bronze as one might’ve expected. It was a dark, dusky color.

The man’s hair was a similar dark gray, slicked back and shaved at the sides. He parted the crowd imperiously, his broad chin held high among the other nobles here.

From how they let him pass, I knew immediately he was of a higher standing than most present.

I cautiously stowed my violin away, promising myself I’d tend to it later. I hadn’t met this man before and I needed my mind in a place of politics.

“Toren of Named Blood Daen,” he said, bowing slightly as he approached. “My name is Renton of Highblood Morthelm. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I must congratulate you on a spectacular show.”

He held a calloused hand out to me, something calculating in his orange-flecked eyes. I took it casually, shaking respectfully.

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Morthelm.”

I felt his grip strengthen subtly, the muscles in his hand tightening with mana-enhanced force. I matched it with a slight smirk before he took his hand away, the barest note of discomfort on the broad man’s face. There were slight red imprints where my fingers had clasped his meaty ones.

“And you’ll find that there’s more to magic than you think. My music is just one of those,” I added.

Try to play those kinds of strength games with me, Lord Morthelm, and you’ll get burned. You’re going to have to work this from a unique angle. One you’ve never tried before, I thought, slightly amused.

“I recognize your Blood name from somewhere,” I said, tilting my head. Sevren watched the exchange with a cool, teal gaze like a hawk, quietly biting into his apple slice. “But it's slipping my mind.”

Lord Morthelm chuckled slightly. He had a powerful build that rumbled with even this slight laugh. “Many, many years ago, my predecessors were allied with Named Blood Daen. We were close as Blood.” He cleared his throat. “At least until your unfortunate fall from grace. But things seemed to have changed,” he continued, giving me a knowing nod. “Blood Joan no longer exists.”

Aurora’s clockwork bird drifted in from the skies, circling several times before landing on my shoulder. It puffed a burst of purplish-orange mist, whirred and clicked a few times, then settled in like a lifelike sculpture nesting down.

“They are on their way,” my bond conveyed. “Only a minute or two until their group reaches us.”

Thanks, I thought to my companion. The asuran shade had an advantage in reconnaissance that outstripped anything I could normally do. I’d used that to my advantage and asked her to keep an eye out for a few select people. After what the Jasper man had done earlier today, I was expecting interference.

How much of that does she actually control? I wondered. It’s so incredibly lifelike. Even the little mannerisms and ticks are indistinguishable from a real bird. It's very unlike an actual puppet.

“You may have left the physical stage, Toren,” Aurora whispered into my mind, “But this is a performance as any other. Keep that in mind.”

I will, I acknowledged. I doubted Lord Morthelm’s desires were as clear-cut as wishing to reform old alliances. Everything was about politics once you went high enough.

The middle-aged highblood looked at the settling clockwork bird on my shoulder with intrigue. Then the steampunk sparrow turned its eyes–each like a turbulent sun–on him. I saw him gulp imperceptibly, then intentionally focus back on me.

“Blood Joan didn’t vanish,” I said lightly, a slight smile on my face. “They were torn out, root and stem.” A ripple went through the crowd around us, but I shook my head. “But I’d be more than happy to work with your enterprises again. At least on my own terms.”

The man chuckled again, pointedly avoiding the scalding stare of Aurora’s relic. “Of course, Lord Daen. It’s only proper that–”

He was interrupted as at least a dozen drenched nobles bullied their way through, their mana flaring in an intimidating display. Sevren slowly stood, a frown on his face as the group got closer. For the barest of instants, Renton Morthelm looked indecisive. He seemed to be considering whether or not to blend back into the crowd or stand by my side. He only hesitated for a moment, however, and the broad highblood shifted to face the oncoming mages instead of leaving.

I portrayed a stern face outwardly, but on the inside, I was grinning. About time you reached us, I thought.