Sevren Denoir

I walked through the strange house, passing the many tables of equipment I’d set up since I’d begun shifting my operations to this static Town Zone of the Relictombs. I weaved around a mana-attribute detecting device, then stepped over the cords for an ambient power system. Within the center of a swirling collage of metal and wires, the beast core of a winddraw anthradov hovered.

While alive, these wind-aspected mana beasts would inhale through their obscenely large gullets. They’d suck in as much ambient mana as they could, then expel it as a rumbling attack that was dangerous even for a team of mid-tier mages.

But, as far as I was aware, I was the only artificer who had recognized the potential the beast core of these creatures could have. I’d jerry-rigged a system that forcibly stimulated the beast core with a bit of mana, causing it to draw in the energy around itself in a weakened mimicry of the living monster’s signature attack.

But the mana wasn’t expelled as a sound attack. As the ambient mana neared, a gravity-imbued artifact helped siphon it toward storage containers, where a collection of other small artifacts distilled the substance into drops of pure silver liquid.

My system for passively gathering mana for my experiments was revolutionary. At least it would be if I released the method to the public. There were many systems that attempted to do similar things, but they almost always required a mage to stand nearby and utilize their active control over mana to finalize the gathering process. Furthermore, my system was compact and efficient beyond compare.

I hadn’t gotten around to setting it up outside yet, but that would be my next step.

I moved over to the kitchen counter. I’d cleared it of most items that had supernaturally spawned here, but there was one remaining. Toren had called it a ‘microwave oven,’ and said it cooked food using high-frequency waves along the electromagnetic spectrum. Apparently, in whatever land he had visited, this was one of the primary methods of heating food, though it was clear his knowledge of it was very basic and non-technical.

I settled my left hand on the cord at the back where it plugged into the wall and engaged my regalia, Scouring Purpose.

I narrowed my eyes as mana funneled from the spellform on my lower back, to the cord, then back to my hand. It provided an almost instinctual understanding of the inner workings, the spellform simultaneously accelerating the pattern-matching abilities of my brain.

My regalia didn’t outright tell me the functions of items I used it on, but it made me far, far more receptive to deducing them myself. And from the information I’d absorbed from this cord, I sighed in irritation.

It was easy for me to spot wherever aether was involved in a construction when using my regalia. Everything, even mana artifacts, had a distinct pattern associated with them. A cause and an effect that I could eventually put together. But when aether imposed itself on the world, there was no cause. Only a preordained effect.

I unplugged the microwave with a hint of sour irritation. Toren had hypothesized that this zone merely imitated the effects of that other land he was aware of, meanwhile filling in the blanks with aetheric effects to bridge the gap. And it appeared he was right. The wire had copper running within, presumably to conduct a charge, but there was no electricity coursing along it to energize the microwave. It simply worked as if by true magic.

I grasped one edge of the microwave with my left hand, then moved my right arm to hold the other end. Except I didn’t have my right arm.

I paused absently, cursing myself for the stupid mistake. My right hand had been my dominant one, and without it, every single experiment’s efficiency was cut in half at least. I’d never appreciated the convenience of my previous dexterity until now, where I floundered to use my non-dominant hand like a wogart.

And I can’t afford to even show myself outside these Tombs, I thought with a complicated swirl of emotions. If I do, the protection that being an ascender affords me will be stripped away. And I won’t be able to see my sister for a long time, I thought with a spike of anger, feeling my gut curdle at the thought of the Vicar of Plague.

But then my anger dispersed, drifting as if it was never there. I grabbed the microwave with one arm, strengthening it with mana so I could grasp it with ease. I hefted it up the nearby flight of stairs, then deposited the machine with every other ramshackle item I’d cleared away from the ground floor.

It’s better this way, I thought. Nothing will interrupt my research here anymore. Now that I can navigate the Relictombs with precision using my new spellform, I don’t have to worry about collecting rare resources anymore, either. I can go directly to their source. And each of these houses generates food in their refrigerators on the regular. I don’t need to leave these Tombs, and nobody can trace me here.

I turned as I heard the door to the house open, perking up.

“Okay,” I muttered, “Maybe there’s one person.”

Toren peered around at my admittedly messy mishmash of equipment and devices that took up nearly the entirety of the first floor of this house. He was the only mage alive who could successfully track me down in this Town Zone.

“Sevren,” he called uncertainly, “Could you stand to make things any more cluttered?” he griped. He took a careful step in, avoiding a thick tangle of mana-conducting cords, then shifted to avoid a rather precarious artifact used to denote the resonant frequency of objects.

He failed, bumping into the long cylindrical artifact. He deftly caught it in his hand before it could hit the ground, then paused with wide eyes. He looked at me from across the way.

“What exactly is this?” he said, inspecting it with curious eyes. “It’s… reacting with my sense for mana. It’s like I’m hearing double when it touches my hand.”

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I felt a spike of adrenaline as the words settled in my mind. I weaved my way through the clutter closing the distance. “It’s a mana-bound resonance detector. You use it to detect the resonant frequency of objects. Once artifacts get really compressed, you need to make sure parts don’t resonate in tandem, else they’ll rip each other apart.” But the implications thrummed through my mind. Toren heard aether, didn’t he? How did this connect?

“Take it,” I said absently, my eyes boring into the item in his hands. “I’ve got a spare. Run whatever tests you need to and get back to me.” I looked up at Toren. “Did you manage to get the fluid dissector toolkit without issue?” I said, feeling a flash of worry for my friend. None survived a conflict with my family unscathed.

Toren hesitantly pocketed the dark cylindrical artifact. “It was… stressful. I met your mother,” he said.

I focused intently on my friend. “What happened?” I asked, worried.

The aetheric striker massaged the bridge of his nose, something I knew he did whenever he was trying to think of what to say. Gradually, he began to tell me the story of how he’d approached our estate, the meeting he’d had with my mother, and his extraction by my sister.

Thank you, Caera, I thought internally. Toren wasn’t a good liar. He defaulted on simply remaining silent when pressed or giving obvious half-answers. His ticks were relatively easy to read once you got to know him, and I was certain Lenora would have tried to pry the truth of my predicament from his hands whatever the cost.

“--And I got an invitation from your mother, too,” Toren finished saying.

I blinked, then narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “What did she invite you to do?” I asked.

“She wants me to play my violin at the upcoming Denoir ball,” Toren replied, “And I’m going to do it.”

I snarled, running through the circumstances in my head. Lenora knew I had been accompanying Toren at every concert he’d held, acting as silent political support and backing. No doubt she hoped to draw me to the ball if Toren were to play.

“You can’t accept,” I said angrily. “My mother wants to draw me out, like a carallian following the scent of blood. That’s why she gave the invitation.”

Lenora was always trying to pull me away from my work in the Relictombs. My father, Corbett, thought I would eventually leave my ‘foolish obsession with the arcane’ behind and join the fold, but my Mother had made it her mission to force me in.

Toren looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Maybe that’s true,” he said uncertainly. “But I’ve decided to accept anyway. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“You’ll be playing right into her hands,” I said, feeling unnaturally angry. “She’s trying to manipulate you somehow. Are you fine with that?”

“I know,” Toren said calmly. “But you know my goals for playing my music,” he said. “To try and reach as many people as possible. Touch as many hearts as I can. And this is a straight ladder to the top. Every single venue I’ve attended so far has had minimal highblood attendance, but this? This is an opportunity I cannot miss.”

I thought of Toren’s soul-caressing music. I would admit there was a power to it that transcended mere words. When he played, he became a force as ethereal as the ambient mana itself. But he was going to fail in trying to make highbloods accept the unadorned.

But maybe this ball will be the point he finally realizes that, a bitter part of myself said. Maybe this will finally show him the truth of their corruption. For his own sake.

“I won’t join you this time,” I said quietly.

“I figured,” Toren said, and there was a bit of sadness there. “You’ve done a lot for me, Sevren. I can’t force you to do anything.” He shook his head, then withdrew a deep blue box from his dimension ring. The toolkit, I thought, reaching my hand out to take it. I’d need to get to work fast with the small blithe sample I had.

When I clasped the handle, Toren’s own fingers didn’t release the leather. I looked at him, uncertain. “Sevren,” he said quietly. “You should talk with Caera.”

I ripped the case from Toren’s hands, turning around and slowly plodding toward where the microwave used to be. I set the toolkit down on the counter, and then unzipped the top.

“She misses you,” Toren’s voice said from behind me. “You need to talk to her. I didn’t even know it, but you haven’t spoken in months.”

I tuned out Toren’s words, instead slowly, carefully setting up the many interlocking beakers. The fluid dissector needed to be precisely arrayed, or else–

“Sevren,” Toren’s irritatingly calm voice pierced my eardrums. “You can’t just stay here all-”

I spun, my sole remaining hand crushing the glass container in my hand. Crystalline shards splintered against my hands. “And what would you have me do?!” I said, my voice raising in volume. “Leave the Relictombs? Get drawn into the petty politics of my family? I’m doing something important here! Something necessary!” I said, gesturing to the arrayed mechanisms before me.

“You don’t need to consign yourself to the Relictombs forever,” Toren said, his orange eyes piercing my soul. “I can easily act as a go-between for you and Caera. Manage a meetup of some sort. And even then, we can manage to do–”

“Manage to do what?” I asked, nearly yelling. “Why is the world outside deserving of my time and energy? All it's done is break down every good thing that we’ve ever done.”

Toren crossed his arms. “There’s good people out in the world, Sevren. Things worth working for beyond just hiding away those close to us. Caera wouldn’t want you to stay–”

“And what do you know of us?” I snapped heatedly. “What do you know about Caera and I? About what I need to do to stop hell from taking her too?!”

I immediately regretted my outburst. I saw the hurt flash in Toren’s eyes as he took a single step back, but it was quickly overridden by another emotion. The same one that overtook everyone in the wake of his concerts.

Understanding. Those eyes seared my flesh deeper than any brand. “My brother, Norgan, was taken from me in front of my eyes,” he said quietly. “I know what it’s like to lose one closer to you than your own soul. I wrought vengeance upon those responsible, but it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of those at my side.” He paused. “But my loss was an instant knife to the heart. Don’t let Caera feel the draw of a relationship’s slow death instead. She cares for you, Sevren.”

I slammed my eyes shut, turning away. His words stung. “Just go,” I begged, feeling unable to argue any longer. “Please.”

I heard Toren’s steps as he slowly made his way back to the exit. “The djinn are worthy of the highest respect,” his voice echoed near the door. “But they made a mistake, cutting themselves off from the world outside. Of isolating themselves and their emotions from the scourge of the asura in the waking world. Their passivity doomed themselves, in a way. You’re the closest thing to a legacy they have,” he admitted, “So don’t do the same. This world and people are worth your time and attention.”

I felt a treacherous tear rip itself from my eye and course down my cheek as I thought of Caera. Of my responsibilities outside. The echoing sound of the door closing as Toren left rattled around in my head like a hundred ghosts.