Toren Daen

When I reached the stream closest to the exit–the stretching flow of water where I had my second battle with skaunters–I barely took the time to check my surroundings before ripping my battle-torn clothes off and cleaning myself with fervor. The water was cold, especially as the month of November took hold. The temperature had continued to drop on average, and while enhancing my body regularly with mana helped me ward off the chill, soon it wouldn’t be enough.

Several new scars marked my body: one nasty cut stretched across my abdomen where a flying ape had nearly disemboweled me. A jagged trio of claw marks stretched from my upper back to my shoulder, evidence of how I escaped the jumbo panther on the forest floor. It took a while for me to get used to physical pain, but Toren’s experiences helped harden me to it.

I lathered some of my lye soap over my arms, noting the vibrant red chain tattoo that wrapped from my palm to my upper chest, stopping dead over my sternum. It appeared too bright and contrasted strangely with my skin, seeming to be overlaid a millimeter above my body rather than formed of actual ink. There was truth to that, I supposed.

As I looked into the sky, I appreciated the clarwood trees. Instead of losing their leaves in the winter months, they shifted to a pale white color. They weren’t quite there: at a cream-colored orange right now instead of pure white.

I was interrupted from my bathing by a trio of skaunters stalking from the woods. The rat-lizard creatures issued their usual snarl-screeches, stalking forward with attempted menace. Now, however, I was far beyond them in power.

With a snarl, I pushed outward with my killing intent–called King’s Force by the asura–and slammed it into the beasts. They froze midstep, their rodent-like ears flattening against scaled heads. They quickly retreated into the forest, whimpering in terror.

Killing intent was more complex than The Beginning After the End would have had me believe. In essence, it was similar to normal conjuration magic: enforcing your will–your intent–over the ambient mana. But while the intent to kill was easy to project, the effect varied based on a number of factors, as I had discovered. My own confidence in my abilities, the actual number of beasts I had killed, and the raw power at my command all played a role in King’s Force.

What I was doing was forcefully conveying the total weight of my power onto another creature. All I had slain, my own belief in myself, and the purity of mana in my core condensed into one solid message: ‘You will die if you fight me.’

I had killed enough monsters beyond skaunters, and enough skaunters themselves, that my killing intent was enough to cow them.

With a sigh, I went back to washing myself in the stream.

It feels good to finally be clean, I thought to myself as I watched the water being tainted red and brown from all the filth being washed off of me. Cleanliness was what separated man from beast, and I was the closest I had ever been to beasthood in the depths of that forest. Now, as I entered back to civilization, I washed myself not just of the grime, but of the mindset as well.

When I was finally clean, I donned my final set of clothes. I wore loose, dark trousers that nicely complimented an unembroidered gray-blue long-sleeved tunic. I cinched my dagger to my waist with a dark leather belt before securing my sling bag over one shoulder.

With that done, I vaulted back into the trees, zipping along at speeds that a normal human would never be able to manage. In a couple of minutes, I reached the edge of the forest. Sparing my home for the past weeks a final glance, I set off toward Fiachra.

—

I looped around to the West Gate this time, which added another twenty minutes to my journey back. I didn’t want to be predictable, however, so I avoided the South Gate. Blood Joan was certainly still keeping an eye out for me, so I needed to be stealthy here. I knew very little about Blood Joan, while I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew everything there was to know about Toren Daen.

Fiachra was subdivided into five districts: one for each cardinal direction with a small central division, designed to mirror the Dominions of Alacrya at large. West Fiachra was the second-wealthiest district, and it showed. It was awash with vibrant color, brilliant reds and oranges painting the masonwork of many of the buildings. The cobbled streets were wide and open, made to feel even more vast by the tributaries that ran alongside the main roads. Magic was heavy in the air. The mana vibrated and pulsed as a dozen different artifacts contributed to the web of industry and function: lamps powered by mana lined the roads, with everpresent mana-powered boats ferrying people and goods along the water. It felt alive in a way East Fiachra did not.

Right now, I needed information. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I went to the local library.

For all of Grey’s missteps in his initial forays through Alacrya, checking the local library was not one of them. Unfortunately, the information he was looking for wouldn’t be available there. The information I needed I was reasonably certain would be easy to find.

The West Fiachra Library was a tall building, easily four stories in height. Across the nameplate was a now familiar winged serpent behind the text. When I entered, I was almost immediately blown away by what I saw.

A central corridor led to segmented spaces lined with bookshelves that had several floors, each slice of the area dedicated to different genres and categories. The central space itself was open and airy, with many reading desks. A chandelier hung forty feet in the air, casting a warm light through the quiet atmosphere.

I recognized students working through several texts at several of the reading desks by their matching uniforms. I looked away quickly, searching for an information desk. Norgan and I had almost entered an academy, but that was a life gone before it could start.

I spotted the desk soon enough. The receptionist, a scrawny boy with glasses and a mop of light brown hair, scrutinized me with tired eyes as I walked over.

“Hello,” I said. “I’m looking for a book that has information about the local Bloods of Fiachra,” I continued. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

The boy fixed the glasses on his face. I noticed he had been reading a book, but I couldn’t make out the title. “Of course,” he said, the ‘I’m helping a customer’ mask washing over his features. It seemed that some things were constant in every world. “If you go a bit past the Blood Theory section over there,” the teen pointed to one of the sections, “You’ll see a sign for Blood History. There’s a dedicated couple of shelves for Fiachran Bloods.”

The boy scanned me up and down, clearly noting the red chain tattoo over my hand. I would have to get some gloves to cover that up. “Are you a student at one of the academies?”

I frowned slightly, not comfortable explaining any of my own business. “No, I’m not.”

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The boy shrugged as if to say ‘What can you do?’ “Academy students get an extra week on their loans. Most don’t take advantage of that,” he explained.

I nodded. “Thank you anyway,” I said before walking toward the Blood History section.

I quickly found a small compendium of Fiachran Bloods. It was a decade old, but considering Blood Joan had been at large for at least thirty years, I was confident I would find some information on them.

I was correct. In fact, the book gave me a comprehensive detail of House Joan’s family tree. The patriarch was a man named Lawrent Joan. At the time of writing, he had a young son named Lawris. A dozen other blood relations were mentioned, such as Lawrent’s siblings: a brother named Dornar and a sister called Kaelan. As I read down the page, I realized I wasn’t going to get much more out of the family tree, so I skipped to the next section. I now knew the Blood rose to prominence only forty years ago, using the wealth they gained from their ‘victory’ over Named Blood Daen to rise in power.

But finally, my efforts paid off. The book noted that Blood Joan owned a small estate in North Fiachra, just off South Sovereign Boulevard. I had no idea where that was, but I could get a map easily enough.

I reshelved the book with a slow smile, feeling like I was making progress. I nodded to the tired receptionist before stepping back into the Fiachran bustle of midday.

I had to prepare.

—

It was early evening when I was finally done with my shopping. The sun was ever-so-close to setting, the lowering light heralding the encroaching chill of the night. Dusk made East Fiachra even more depressing, the darkness complimenting the drab colors and claustrophobia of the buildings in a collage of sadness.

Finding a secluded alley, I ducked aside. Not a moment too soon, either. A searing heat–far less than ever before, but still noticeable–lanced through my mana core. I quickly sat behind a large crate, the shadow it cast hiding me from unfriendly eyes.

I looked inward, noting my progress toward the next stage. I was close to yellow core: something that shouldn’t be possible, because I had been assimilating Lady Dawn’s Will for the past month. When assimilating a Beast Will, a mage couldn’t draw mana from the air to purify their core to the next level.

But my core wasn’t being purified by the ambient mana. The feather at the center of my core continued to pulse with energy, scouring away impurities and forcing the nexus of my strength onward in development.

The Unseen World overlaid my eyes, Lady Dawn looking down at me. I nodded in greeting, already beginning to spread mana from my core outward. I had improved in managing my mana dramatically, Lady Dawn’s example helping me more than anything else could. But I was still leagues from her skill.

Silently, the asura began to help me assimilate the mana from my core across my body. It was a slow and grueling task, but time passed quickly in meditation. The movement of mana served as a sort of training for me as well: it helped iron out my influence and control over mana, with Lady Dawn as a model.

Time ticked by as I slowly assimilated the mana through my muscles and bones. When I was done, I exhaled lightly. Relief flooded through my veins as the searing in my mana core dwindled away, kept at bay for a time by the combined efforts of the phoenix and myself.

When we were done, I quickly changed into what I labeled my ‘stealth garb.’ It had bought each item earlier: a set of dark clothes, a black hooded cloak, and fingerless gloves made of sturdy dark leather that stretched to my elbow. The salesman had explained that it was made with high-quality mana beast hide, which probably explained why it cost such a pretty penny.

I cinched my belt at my waist and fastened my dagger to my side, before checking to make sure the pouch on the other side was secure. It was filled with small pebbles and rocks: a tried and true method of attack for use with telekinesis.

I held the last touch of my disguise in my hand.

It was a dark metal mask with light filigree, but an obvious tarnish had weathered much of its detail. It covered my entire face, stretching to encompass most of my jaw and a good portion of my hairline, secured with solid straps. Two small horns, clearly designed to mimic those of the Vritra, stretched from the side of the mask.

I spent the most money of anything on the mask, buying it from an antique shop I found near the outskirts of West Fiachra. I had honestly struck gold there; I had planned to simply wrap my face in cloth.

But the mask, though unenchanted, would serve a near magical purpose. It was a frightening thing, and that was what I intended to be.

I had a little less than half of the coins Norgan and Toren had saved up left. The sum they had gathered was substantial: three years' worth of good pay from two people. It had been enough to pay both Toren and Norgan’s entire way through academy training.

Now it served to pay my way through vengeance.

I stashed the rest of my belongings in my ever-trusty sling bag before securing it in place over my cloak. It blended in remarkably well, and with the hardships I put it through in the cutthroat depths of the Clarwood Forest, I knew it would take a slice of hell to come through damaged.

I flipped up my hood, finally covering all of my features. I bent my legs, imbuing mana into them, before launching myself into the air with a push of telekinesis. I didn’t get enough height to actually jump the three stories needed to reach the rooftops, so I kicked off of the brick wall with a smaller push of telekinesis to get me the rest of the way. I landed soundly on the angled rooftop, surveying my surroundings.

It was an hour or so past sunset, and the glowing lights of Fiachran households illuminated many of the buildings all about. It was darker in this small section of East Fiachra, though the light of the waxing moon provided enough to see. The stretching waters of the canals reflected the stars in a tapestry of sparkles. The previous traffic was nearly nonexistent under the cover of darkness.

Fixing my view north, the buildings in that direction were noticeably taller, though much sparser from what I could see so far away. I leapt and bounded across the rooftops under the watching stars, the practice and constant parkour I had done under the high stakes of the Clarwood Forest allowing me a grace I would’ve never imagined in my previous life.

I was almost to the boundary line to North Fiachra, something that set it apart from all other districts. Every other division of Fiachra was noted by a simple sign whenever you crossed over. North Fiachra was cut off from the other sections with a wall stretching far into the air. It wasn’t wide enough to walk across, so I had no worries about patrols. The wall stretched and twisted, nearly cutting the entirety of Fiachra in half length-wise. North Fiachra was the largest district by land, after all: home to the upper crust of the city.

I skidded to a stop on a nearby rooftop, observing the wall before me. It was dark gray, made of earth that seemed to be one entire structure with no seams or breaks for mortar. It must have been raised by earth mages, which added a level of strength to the barrier. It had stylistic designs here and there across the wall depicting basilisks and horned symbols, something that was ever present across the city.

There was a considerable distance between the nearest building and the wall. Below me, one of the wider main streets of Fiachra ran along the entire length of the wall, blocking me an easy leap across. I looked both ways, checking to see if any watchers were present. Confident nobody was observing, I edged to the far end of the rooftop.

I turned back to face the wall, then burst forward into a hard sprint. Mana enhanced my legs beyond human capacity, pushing me forward. As I reached the edge of the roof, I focused on using a telekinetic push. I angled it under my feet in a controlled concentration of power, releasing it just as I jumped.

I sailed through the air with an echoing crack of wood and mortar behind me, the sudden force of my telekinesis shattering the stonework. The wind buffeted against me, causing my cloak to flare out as I soared in an arc.

At the apex of my arc, I focused on the approaching wall. I would just barely miss my mark if my calculations were correct. After all, jumping fifty feet in one bound and aiming for a higher ledge was no simple feat. Luckily, I had something that made physics a suggestion.

I pulled on the edge of the wall, yanking myself towards it in a continuous pulse. It started off weak, not able to affect even the weight of my clothes. As careened closer, however, the force I could exert jumped exponentially, allowing me to pull myself to the wall finally.

I slammed into the wall of stone, managing to grab onto the edge of the top with a soft whump. Grinning to myself under my mask, I hoisted myself onto the wall.

North Fiachra lay before me, the land of the opulent and the rich.

And the land of my enemies.