Toren Daen

Even after the normally wholesome experience of playing my music, I left Central Academy feeling deeply unsure.

After the concert, I maneuvered through the political webs and envoys sent forward to form a connection or entice some sort of deal from me. Aurora remained mostly silent, only providing nudges and tips when it was absolutely necessary. My bond despised this city even more than I did.

But above even that, she feared Agrona sensing me once more. So she stayed quiet, dreadfully aware that she could draw the High Sovereign’s attention once more.

Lusul and his friends were there to watch me go, smiling and nodding in an appreciative way. Varsa waved with a slight smile, and Adestine blushed deeply when I focused on her.

But the sight of these happy youths, so ready to go to war and condemn the people of Dicathen, made a knot of acid seep in my throat.

When Arthur masqueraded as a professor on this continent, he had found his students to be hesitant and angry about the war. Their lives were nothing in the endless meat grinder Agrona created, and after Aldir singlehandedly erased the surface of an entire country, they rightfully questioned what the point of it all was.

These students were not the same. All their lives, they’d been told they were greater than others because of their asuran lineage. That the other continent was a place of savages and lessers who hadn’t been blessed with Agrona’s grace and favor.

I didn’t blame Lusul, Adestine, and Varsa for their discrimination. They had never been told otherwise; never been given a chance to think or see the consequences of their actions. Hell, even my brother Norgan and I thought ourselves beyond the Dicathians. It was only when my soul merged with my Earthen reflection that my perspective had changed.

I blamed Agrona. He’d fostered a strange duality in the people of Alacrya: one of simultaneous groveling and pride. They were lesser than their gods, but greater than the other peoples of the world.

My feet felt heavy as they plodded along the streets of Cardigan, my direction vaguely winding toward the teleportation gates at the center. I had a meeting in Aedelgard, after all.

As I walked, the reactions of those who saw me were mixed. One man bowed stiffly as if I were a highblood of the greatest order. Another flared his mana in challenge, meeting my eyes. And another–one who bore a necklace imbibed with the glyphs of the Doctrination–sneered at me with outright hate.

Lusul might not have flattered me from the bottom of his heart, but the words he spoke upon our first meeting were true. I’d disrupted Alacrya’s balance of political power deeply, and the current position of the Doctrination as an institution was deeply uncertain. There were rumors of the High Sovereign’s minions visiting churches and confiscating both wealth and property from the leading vicars. And considering Scythe Seris had not faced public repercussions from Agrona for her supposedly blatant actions against His Voice, the Alacryan people were left wondering if the leader of the Vritra clan approved of Varadoth’s execution.

I wondered, when it was all over, what the faces of these people would display when they saw me.

“Your face is sour as an entmoor’s prime berry,” a cool, smooth voice said. “I find myself wondering what has you so contemplative, Lord Daen.”

I tilted my head to the side, noting the sudden appearance of a familiar woman walking beside me.

Common perception stated that Scythe Seris did not make social visits. Common perception was wrong. The pearlescent woman simply never allowed those she visited to divine her true identity.

Seris–in her Renea Shorn disguise–seemed to drink in the attention of any who laid their eyes on her. I, too, felt her almost gravitating allure. Though I felt no spell altering my mind, part of me still wondered.

“I’m wondering what part I’ll play in the future,” I said honestly, turning my attention back to the road in front of me. “I have never fought in a war before. I question what my place will be on the other continent.”

Seris moved a bit closer to me as she stepped around a puddle, our shoulders touching for the barest instant before she resumed her grace-filled stride. “What part do you think you shall play, Lord Daen?” she asked.

“There is whatever you’ll have me do, I know. But I also have some goals of my own,” I replied after a moment of consideration. “But I don’t know if can push myself to do them. I’m not as strong as I would like to be.”

Our conversation fell off as we continued toward and through the teleportation gates. Once the sea-kissed breeze of Aedelgard reached my nose, I felt a tension I didn’t know I’d been holding release from my shoulders.

“I’m glad to be gone from that city,” I breathed. Not far in the distance, the headquarters of Bloodstone Elixirs beckoned.

Seris hesitated for a moment. “As am I, Lord Daen,” she said seriously. “As am I.”

We walked for a few streets more, the cries of gulls and sounds of ship labor echoing in our ears. Aedelgard lived and breathed the sea, and I could see the beginning construction of many iron-clad steamships all along the streets.

That made me sink deeper into my ruminations about the war. Agrona had an almost impossibly precise art of turning what should be critical failures into victories. He’d taken the Dicatheous, allowing the men and women of Alacrya to reverse-engineer the steam engine and create what would become a massive fleet of ships.

“Sometimes,” Seris said, noting my quiet contemplation, “I like to watch the Vritra’s Maw Sea from the skies. I absorb the waters, the breeze, the mountainous cliffs along the edge, and I see the far-off horizon. I allow myself to create wild dreams of what may be on the other side, though I know the truth.”

I looked to my side, feeling a measure of surprise as Seris looked out at the water far beyond. Sunlight glittered across its surface, a stark contrast to the dark steel hulls that crisscrossed the bay. It was near dusk, and the breeze coolly brushed Seris’ dark locks of hair. The woman had a strangely wistful cast to her face.

“To me, Dicathen is much the same. I can create as many fanciful ideas for what I shall encounter. What actions I shall take and what decisions I will make. But all the same, I know what my duties are. There are times where I must allow myself to dream, and others where I must embody duty.”

Seris laid a delicate yet solid hand on my shoulder for a moment as we reached the gates of Bloodstone Elixirs. “I may not yet understand you, Toren Daen, but I am certain you have the inner strength you seem to believe yourself lacking in.”

I exhaled, feeling a strange tightness in my chest as Seris turned, a bare gesture of her hand causing the gates to open.

“The Scythe is correct, Toren,” Aurora reaffirmed in my mind. “You are strong. Of mind. Of body. And of spirit. You can complete your goals.”

I hope so, I thought as Seris and I walked through the courtyard. In the wake of my battle with the vicars, the many flowers along the rims–all from different Dominions across Alacrya–had been burned, shredded, frozen, and decayed with all manner of spells. Now, the place felt strangely empty as only grass remained.

Inadvertently, I found myself thinking of Arthur. The great protagonist of this world, wrapped up in Fate and aether and all the machinations of the asura. Strange as it was, I allowed myself to remember the times in his story when he felt weak. Where he felt the burdens of everything on his shoulders; tempted to just kneel.

But I also reminded myself of how he always stood back up. I thought I understood the reincarnated king just a bit more, then. And the memories of a novel from another world–that showed that one could push through such hardship–kept my strides long and bold.

Xander, with his fake mossy hair, greeted us at the door. I still hadn’t learned his true name, but he seemed to be a trusted agent of Seris. The man led us through the bustling corridors of the headquarters, the twisting paths winding downward slowly. Finally, Seris and I entered a larger chamber. Xander backed away respectfully as we reached our destination, tracking back the way he had come.

And at the center of the room was a dark, anvil-shaped artifact that pulsed with mana.

“This tempus warp will take us to my personal estate not far from the shore,” Seris said, striding forward leisurely. She laid a delicate hand across the surface of the artifact. “To avoid suspicion of my true identity, Lord Daen, you shall use this avenue to reach my base of operations.”

I knew tempus warps allowed long-range teleportation, but there seemed to be a flaw in Seris’ reasoning. I hesitated for a moment, then decided to speak. “If the goal is to keep Renea Shorn as a mask,” I said slowly, “Then I think it would be a bit too obvious if I enter Bloodstone Elixirs and leave Scythe Seris’ mountaintop estate. Rumors like that spread quickly.”

Seris raised a dark brow. “Astute, Lord Daen,” she said primly. “That is why you shall take this tempus warp back when we are done, and you shall leave by way of Bloodstone Elixirs.”

I thought about that for a second. I worked my jaw for a moment, immediately seeing another problem. I rolled the realization around in my head for a few seconds, trying to find the best way to say it. Hopefully without getting summarily executed.

“Is there an issue?” Seris pushed. “You are free to speak your mind.”

I felt a grim sort of amusement as I tried to recall any time in that aforementioned otherworld novel where Arthur had to deal with something exactly like this. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the fix-all solution to my problems.

“I don’t know how long you intend for me to be in your estate,” I finally said, feeling a bit embarrassed at the conclusion I’d reached, “But if I am seen entering Bloodstone Elixirs with you in the early evening, am not seen by any of your staff for several hours, and then am spotted leaving alone, I’m not sure those rumors will be any better.”

Seris’ eyebrows rose high enough to scrape her hairline. “Men will always talk, Lord Daen,” she said casually. “There is no way to avoid such rumors. It is a part of the trade. One can only learn to master and direct such rumors rather than quell them,” she said, the subtlest curve to the edge of her lips. “Though if you wish for different gossip to spread, I am in the possession of several brothels in the red light district of Aedelgard. You may enter and leave through those avenues if you so wish.”

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I groaned, caressing the bridge of my nose between my index and thumb as I wrinkled my brow. “Are all your tempus warps located in places like that?” I asked a bit lamely.

Seris chuckled lightly, seeming amused by my exasperation. Her dark eyes flashed coyly. “It is a wonderful cover, Lord Daen. Your mind reached the conclusion most do under the circumstances. It allows my agents to freely report to me without being suspected of doing so.”

I huffed. “Okay then,” I finally said, walking forward to stand near the covert Scythe. I looked down at the tempus warp, feeling a bit of trepidation and anticipation both. “I’ve never used a tempus warp before. How does it work, exactly?”

Before I could think anything more, there was a strange flex in the ambient mana. I nearly jumped out of my boots as the visage of Renea Shorn melted beside me, the false image seeping away like wax.

Instead of navy-streaked black hair, locks the color of pearlescent silver reflected the low light in the teleportation room. I momentarily forgot how to breathe as the Scythe closed her eyes, skin the color of purest marble standing stark against her dark fur-laced dress. Twin horns shimmered into existence around her forehead, each like the regal points of a tiara.

“Ah, ah, ah–” the woman tested, modulating her tone slightly as she went through a few scales. She continued to hit different notes for a few moments as she gradually shifted the sound of her own voice.

The closest approximation I could think of for Renea Shorn’s voice was Eastern European–something vaguely Slavic–splashed through with traces of an almost posh British accent, and then some tonal bits that were entirely distinct to Alacrya.

But as Seris adjusted her voice next to me, the cool notes caressing my ears like a spring breeze, I heard how it seemed to invert. The English became more prominent, while the Russian-esque parts diminished. Before long, Seris’ voice shone through.

“There we are,” the woman said with a satisfied smile, seeming to find the pitch and tone she was looking for.

“Can you do that with any accent?” I blurted, my eyes wide.

Seris turned to face me, I suddenly felt very, very aware of how close she was–less than a foot away, even if I was staring down. If both of us wanted to be transported at once, that was a necessity, of course. But this felt more intentional. Especially as her eyes narrowed into amused slits.

She is doing this on purpose, I thought with mild annoyance, trying to sense if there was some sort of foreign effect influencing my mind. She has to be.

“I told you once before, Lord Daen,” Seris said, her voice just as smooth as when she played the part of austere CEO, “That Renea Shorn is only one of my masks.”

I frowned as Seris looped her arm through mine, ensuring we were close enough for the teleportation to take us both. “Then is that your real voice?” I asked slowly.

Though I knew Seris’ mana threaded through the teleportation artifact next to us, I still could not sense her mana signature. She’d only disabled part of her cloaking artifact.

“It might be,” the Scythe said primly, then activated the tempus warp.

I saw a blur of purple before my location changed. I blinked rapidly as the light suddenly became blinding, my eyes struggling to adjust.

When my eyes finally focused, I scanned the massive chamber I’d found myself in. Sconces with electric blue dots of mana lined an expansive room layered with dark, dark stone. There were runes carved all along the floor that pulsed with steady power, a silver-blue lining that conducted the mana.

And standing in the center of the room atop an expansive raised platform, his posture so ramrod straight and still he could have been mistaken for a mannequin, was Cylrit.

I immediately felt my burgeoning good mood drop. I could see the quiet message in Cylrit’s eyes, the way they quietly called me every sort of name. Though I suspected Cylrit wouldn’t even have the dignity to curse me out, instead using flowery and roundabout insults.

Thankfully, I was more refined.

Dick, I thought, not-glaring at him.

“We are going to war, Lord Daen,” Seris said, striding away from my side and releasing my arm. “You are powerful and skilled, to be certain. But your technique is unrefined. The edge of your power, while sharp, can just as easily cut an ally as an enemy.”

She turned with a swirl of her dress, her onyx eyes boring into my own and pulling me from my mental spar with Cylrit. “So for this next month, we shall make a true soldier of you. You shall hone your edge along the whetstone of my teachings.” Her face dipped into something darker that made goosebumps rise along my skin. “The High Sovereign commanded me to take you to war, and I do not suffer such risk without understanding. If you are to be under my command, I will need to understand what you can do and push that further.”

Gone was the light banter of Renea Shorn. I recognized that mask had fallen away, a new one taking its place. That of the cold, stone Scythe. One who would lead a war at the behest of her god.

“You will spar with Cylrit first,” Seris continued. “To gain a better measure of your abilities and what must be improved.”

“This woman is arrogant,” Aurora thought with a bit of blazing amusement. “To think I was not thorough in my tutoring. She shall find nothing wanting in you, my bond. I will savor the awe on her sculpted face when this is done.”

The talk of training and battle had drawn Aurora from her shell. She was an eminent warrior of the Asclepius, perhaps the greatest they had. She’d been rigorous in her teachings and guidance in the arts of phoenix warfare. I felt as she smugly watched the interaction.

I turned to Cylrit, whose iron gaze bore into me from the center of the training room. “Are there any rules set in place for this match?” I asked, seeing something deeper in the Retainer’s eyes. The earlier annoyance I saw there at my presence had simmered away alongside mine as Seris gave her orders.

There were more important things than petty grudges.

“We are going to war, Spellsong,” Cylrit said with metal in his voice. “Rules are a construct created by the victors to enforce their power.”

Well, that answers that, I thought wryly as I stepped up onto the platform, approaching the Retainer. I reached into my dimension ring with a tendril of mana, withdrawing Inversion once I’d found it.

The white dagger-shaped horn settled into my waiting hand, the strange connection I bore with the pulsing weapon grounding me. I gripped the leather wrapped around its base as I faced off with Cylrit, his mana pulsing with suppressed killing intent.

I was about to open my mouth and ask what would happen next when a thick, thick barrier of translucent blue mana slowly rose from the edges of the platform, rising forty feet in the air before creating a perfect box around us.

A shielding mechanism, I realized.

Cylrit was garbed in his usual dark armor, a long, white cape flowing behind him. I sensed as the air around us changed, the man shifting his foot backward into a deep stance. He moved his arms into a cross-arm guard.

Aurora, I thought as I scrutinized the Retainer’s stance, Could you please allow me to do this spar alone? I want to see how my reflexes and intuition match up to Cylrit’s.

“I understand, Toren,” my bond said. “The path of a warrior always involves testing oneself. I wish you luck.”

I settled into my stance as I faced down the Retainer, holding Inversion like an ice pick near my heart and keeping my left arm extended.

“Begin,” Seris’ cool voice echoed out from afar.

Cylrit did not move, maintaining his boulder-solid stance, but the pressure radiating out from him doubled twice over. “This is the Vechorian guard stance,” he said evenly. “Its defense is as solid as the walls of Aensgar itself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Yet I do not recognize your own stance, Spellsong,” he said.

I’d already divined the nature of Cylrit’s posture. From all I knew from The Beginning After the End, I reasoned that Cylrit was likely a shield. Furthermore, the stance he was in kept his hands close to his body, as opposed to farther out as one would if they aimed to fight aggressively. His modus operandi was defense. I’d have to create my openings.

“This is Hidden Talon,” I said surely, feeling my mind enter the surreal fugue state it did whenever I engaged in battle. My fighting style was oriented around deflection, evasion, and precise parries, following that through into devastating counters. Aurora, long ago, had taught me that my lead hand was designed to cover the actions of the other, which held Inversion. A wing masking a sliding claw.

I’d used this stance to kill Mardeth.

I blurred forward with a mindfire stamp, the world seeming to shift in slow motion as I approached the Retainer. I coated my left fist in a layer of fire as I snapped it at the Vritra-blooded man, aiming for his annoyingly sculpted jaw.

Predictably, Cylrit raised his hand to push my jab to the side, shifting his head so the gout of fire that erupted from my hands missed his hair. I felt the mana thrum through my veins as I grabbed the Retainer’s wrist, using my forward momentum–alongside another subtle push with telekinesis–to rocket forward once more.

Were I facing a weaker opponent, the sudden jerk of his arm as an entire body lurched past would have toppled their stance, causing them to fall over–or if they were extremely unlucky, get hauled along in my wake.

But Cylrit was solid as a moon ox. His arm didn’t even shift as I clenched it, and instead of hauling him, my body was whipped around by centrifugal force.

Exactly as I’d planned.

I snapped out with Inversion as my body swung toward Cylrit’s exposed back, the point of the horn aimed at a bare gap in the Vritra-blooded man’s armor.

But Cylrit wasn’t as surprised by my acrobatics as I suspected. He simply shifted his hand, grasping my wrist in turn. Then he yanked me back, the jolt nearly tearing my shoulder from its socket.

I barely saw the elbow coming from the edge of my vision, a flash of dark steel aiming sideways for my body.

I managed to get my hand in front of my face, funneling more mana into it as the hard edge of Cylrit’s armor impacted my palm.

The force of the blow kicked up a wave of dust as I skidded back. The Retainer hadn’t moved a single inch from where he stood, while I was left shaking out my hand. It felt like my palm had been hit by a train, the flesh aching slightly. It bruised lightly from where I’d barely blocked.

“If that is all you can do, Spellsong,” Cylrit said with a slight sneer, “I find it impossible that you emerged victorious against the Vicar of Plague.” He looked at me pointedly. “You are holding back beyond what you should. By doing so in this moment, you disgrace yourself–and by extension, your Scythe. Do not play games any longer.”

I snapped a glance at Scythe Seris, who watched the back and forth with stoic calmness. While I didn’t think the woman felt disgraced by my hesitance, she certainly looked annoyed.

I sighed. “As you wish,” I said, a hint of irritation lacing my tone. I looked deep into my core, calling on the deep well of insight that was my Phoenix Will. The red chains along my arm shone overtop my long, white sleeves, and I felt feather stem runes shining under my eyes. The deep black flame of Cylrit’s heartfire revealed itself to my gaze.

I twirled Inversion, creating a telekinetically shrouded vein of heartfire with the horn’s focusing properties. To outside observers, a crystal lattice saber erupted from and along the edges of the white horn.

I’d discovered the secret to this during my fight with Mardeth. And if there was any good name for this technique, it was a shrouded saber.

A beat later, plasma threaded through the blade, turning it a solid red that hummed with power. I shifted my stance once more as I levered the burning edge of my shrouded saber toward the Retainer, whose expression had shifted to become even more pinched.

“In case I did not make myself clear, let me repeat myself,” Cylrit said, unphased by the power I radiated. “I said that you disgrace yourself and your Scythe by holding back.”

I ground my teeth, understanding the Retainer’s implication. “The last time I engaged my full power,” I said, thinking of Soulplume, “It was when the lives of thousands were endangered by plague. I do not use that strength lightly.”

Cylrit was quiet for a moment. “Very well, Spellsong,” he said, thrusting his hand out to the side. “Then you have already lost this bout. But I will not forsake my duty, as you have.”

A looming black sword–larger than Cylrit was tall–coalesced from black fog. It glinted ominously as the Retainer slowly hovered higher in the sky, casting a long dark shadow over me as his cape whipped.

“I have been tasked with divining your shortcomings,” he said coolly. “So let us fight.”