Toren Daen

Even in the wake of the tempus warp and the sudden shift in my perspective, my body remained tensed and coiled. Even as I finally left the deep fortress of Taegrin Caelum, part of my mind still remained in those dark hallways, quietly fearing the High Sovereign’s horrid heartfire thrum.

Seris, however, walked forward without apparent care. That serene yet predatory power she’d leveraged against Dragoth and Uto still burned against my tongue and pressed against the sides of my temples in memory, yet outwardly, the silver-haired Scythe appeared calm and collected.

I focused on the change in the air as we warped into Seris’ estate. I was free of Taegrin Caelum. I could relax.

I felt the slight, burgeoning warmth of my mental tether with Aurora as it slowly simmered back to full contact. Even as I continued to follow Seris and Cylrit through their estate, my attention returned to my bond for a brief instant.

“Do you understand why you were ordered to leave the meeting room?” Seris’ cool, even voice said, drawing me from my thoughts.

I worked my jaw, the Scythe’s words unearthing buried emotions. They were not logical, but I felt them all the same. “I was a liability,” I said, my voice a bit stiffer than I would have liked. “My political skills are… subpar. And I got the feeling you needed to divert the attention of the other Scythes.”

Seris looked at me over her shoulder, the shifting ripple of her hair like waves in an ocean of pearl. “You are not a liability, Toren Daen. In fact, you are anything but.”

I frowned, feeling slightly confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I replied.

Seris sighed in a suffering manner, though there was no true heat in it. She slowed in her walk through the halls of her estate–I truly had no idea of our destination, and part of me suspected the Scythe of Sehz-Clar had no idea, either–and stood by my side.

“A month ago, Lord Daen, nobody knew your name. The crest of your Blood bore little more significance than a passing breeze,” she said, a painted nail tapping the aforementioned sigil where it was stitched over my heart. Seris looked up at me with a complicated expression. Her brows were knit in a way that hinted at the thoughts beneath, something deeply curious in her gaze as she inspected the lines of my face. I stared into her eyes in turn, feeling a well of uncertainty in my chest.

“But in a little under a week, your actions made the roots of Alacryan society tremble. The horrid losses of the Plaguefire Incursion have not been seen in half a century or more, and in the wake of Varadoth’s death, the state church has continually been ripped to shreds by both opportunistic highbloods and Agrona’s own forces. The question on the mind of every single Scythe in that meeting was simple.”

Seris tapped a finger against the fiery heart sigil over my vest in turn with her words. “They wish to know Who. You. Are.”

I swallowed as Seris retracted her hand. Cylrit said not a word, his intent unreadable as he stared straight ahead. I was beginning to understand that was his natural response to basically anything.

“And that was why you sent me from the room?” I asked. “To deny the other Scythes that understanding?”

Seris began to walk again, forcing Cylrit and me to trail after her mutely.

“In part. But such action would have been unnecessary had Lord Agrona not implied your worth–your interest–to be beyond that of his former Voice. Perhaps I could have shifted the attention elsewhere otherwise. Perhaps I could have alluded to truths rather than faced them directly were this not the case. But I needed to do something to shift the narrative. Thus, I orchestrated the removal of all conscious Retainers from the room, including you.”

“So you sent me from the room,” I said, starting to see the picture more clearly. “You… made it appear as if you simply wished to discuss things without lower ears present?”

Seris sighed lightly. “That I did, Lord Daen. It was a blunt maneuver that only served to postpone the questions and inquiries for another time rather than eliminate them entirely. Much like draping a cloak over a man garbed in overbright colors. Those who witnessed already know an inkling of what lies beneath. After all, Scythe Viessa took many steps to get your measure. From directing Melzri to talk to you, to pushing her Retainer to intrude upon your mind. Those present know your importance. But now it shall be more difficult to pry. But soon we shall go to war, and neither of us will have to face such questions for an indeterminate age.”

I stared at the hallway as we continued to walk, Seris’ explanation settling into my mind. It made sense, but I also recalled Aurora’s words on Agrona what felt like a year ago.

“He is a manipulator. A game player. The top of the board. But when you speak to him, you feel as if he is on your side. Things will work out in your favor through his actions. You might not see how, but that’s how it is. You live in this perpetual fantasy that he can manage things himself. And if a boundary is crossed that you cannot stand for, then he will weave his words to show how things will be different next time.”

And when next time comes, you are convinced that you are the one at fault, I thought, my mind continuing down that path.

But that was not what Seris had done here. At least I didn't think so. Perhaps her political movements resembled Agrona’s on a surface level, but I could sense the quiet not-apology in her explanation. She had made a pact with me to be open with how she shifted me across the board, and while her pride would not allow her to say the words ‘sorry,’ what set her apart from her High Sovereign was that same emotion that drew me to Renea in the first place.

She cared for others, even if she did not like to show it.

Within my mind, Aurora hummed with something markedly uncertain. “I do not have the full context of what transpired within that wretched fortress,” she said slowly, “But I find this Scythe’s words compelling. I wonder if I truly should.”

She isn’t Agrona, I thought, furrowing my brow. But she’s something equally dangerous. A blade wielded for me rather than against me.

Aurora seemed to agree. “That simply makes it harder to determine when the blade will cut you,” she thought, but not with her usual level of cautious guardedness.

I looked down at my hands, quietly contemplative as we continued to walk. “On the topic of that meeting,” I started, “I still don’t know what part I’m supposed to play in this war. What role you wish of me, since I presume I will be under your command.”

“You put it that way once before. Continue to do so, Lord Daen,” Seris said lightly, a hint of something predatory in her tone that made me shift slightly. My earlier comparison of the woman to a blade rose back to the forefront of my mind, but Seris’ shift of voice vanished just as quickly. “But you have a unique purpose in this war that we must address.”

Cylrit stepped forward to open a door as we approached it, allowing his master in. His usually hostile expression was strangely neutral as he allowed me in.

Within, a personal study lined with mahogany shelves carried a homey atmosphere. In the corner, a dormant hearth awaited a lighting spark. Twin glass doors opened out onto a balcony that overlooked the Vritra’s Maw Sea.

My eyes traced to the familiar kettle and teacups that sat demurely on a nearby table as we entered.

“I’m guessing you’d like me to heat that kettle again?” I asked, feeling a wry spark of amusement at Seris’ proclivity for the beverage.

“Not today, Lord Daen,” Seris said sadly. “Tea is perfect for politics, but war takes the warmth from the beverage. Perhaps that dark, bitter brew you drink would be more suitable.”

I blinked. “You mean coffee?” I’d allowed the austere woman a sip of the drink as Renea Shorn a long time ago. I was surprised she remembered it.

Seris nodded as she swept toward a table, Cylrit following like a shadow. “I still wonder at the origins of such a drink. No matter where I looked, I could not find a trace of its mention.”

I felt a hint of a smile stretch along my lips. Unfortunately, my coffee stores were running a bit low. I’d have to restock in the Town Zone soon. “That’s my secret,” I said, a teasing lacing my tone. “I guarantee you that you won’t figure it out wherever you’re looking.”

For whatever reason, my words seemed to spark something in the normally demure Scythe. I saw the flash of challenge that crossed her face as she stared at me. “I think you underestimate my investigative resources, Lord Daen,” she said primly, a hint of pride in her voice. “I have not faced a puzzle I cannot solve.”

I felt my smile slip slightly. Seris wouldn’t ever be able to figure out this puzzle no matter how hard she tried, and there was something a bit sad about that.

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But what surprised me was the slight, rumbling chuckle that threaded from Aurora. “Oh, I understand now,” she said mirthfully over our bond. “A puzzle is indeed what she sees in you. That’s why she is so…”

I felt a bit surprised by my bond’s sharp intervention. What are you talking about?

“It is not my place to say,” Aurora replied, a strange sort of smugness radiating from our mental tether. “This, my bond, is for you to figure out on your own.”

I was about to ask what she meant when Seris’ cool voice interrupted my thoughts.

“Nevertheless, it is time we discussed what stance we shall take when we arrive on the continent of Dicathen,” Seris said, imbuing a hint of her mana into a device at the head of the table.

To my surprise, a massive, illusory map of Dicathen appeared over the table between us. I saw the borders between Darv, the Beast Glades, Sapin, and Elenoir all in an elaborate display. The illusion projected itself in three dimensions, with slight rises and falls marking areas like the Grand Mountains. Each bit of the map was tinted silver, scrawling words noting the placement of major cities.

I breathed out in surprise. Dicathen was vast: easily larger than the United States of my previous life. The maps that TurtleMe provided showed minuscule detail compared to the holographic mana projection that hovered before my eyes.

“Our forces will arrive soon along the coast of Sapin along a fleet of steamships,” Seris said, her finger trailing the edge of the sea. “Cylrit, you shall be in the vanguard with Retainer Uto on this voyage, as discussed previously.”

Cylrit huffed angrily, something I could sympathize with. “I do not believe I can weather that man’s disgusting nature for weeks at sea.”

“The steamships are nearly at the Dicathian coast already,” Seris answered. “Preemptively, I proposed a wish to the High Sovereign. To maximize your time and usefulness in both Alacrya and Dicathen, you and Uto will take a tempus warp to meet up with our forces as representatives in under a week’s time.”

Cylrit bowed stiffly and slowly. “Pardon me, Scythe Seris. But I still do not trust myself to remain civil and controlled around Retainer Uto.” His scarlet eyes flicked to me, a silent understanding passing between us. “The filth that he utters is beyond contemptible. My hands may find their way to his throat by circumstance.”

Seris looked at Cylrit measuringly, before she sighed. “I understand. But I need you to be placed near to the man. In case you must intervene or act as… a deterrent for Uto’s more reckless actions. The Retainer of Vechor could easily damage our long-term plans, but with you as a focus, it is less likely that Uto would divert his attention in undesirable ways.”

I felt my eyes widen as I looked between the Scythe and her Retainer, my thoughts awhirl at the interaction. They did not say that much, but if I were to apply my own future understanding…

Was this why Cylrit accompanied Uto in the original story to meet with Aldir, Arthur, and Virion? I wondered. To keep an eye on Uto, and maybe to keep his attention occupied?

Clearly, that hadn’t fully worked. Did that mean Cylrit was the one to inform Seris of Uto’s attack on Arthur, causing her to intervene?

“Very well, Scythe Seris,” Cylrit eventually said. “I will fulfill your wishes to my utmost ability.”

Seris smiled softly. “I know you will, Cylrit. You always have.” Then she turned to me, a tilt to her head that subtly reminded me of Aurora. “Now, Lord Daen, what is required of you is far more complex.”

I felt my brow pinch at the Scythe’s words. “What do you mean?” Truthfully, I didn’t know where I would fit in in this war. A part of me had avoided thinking too deeply, fearing what may be necessary. What my hand would be forced to do.

“In you, I have a tool that can be used in a myriad of different ways,” Seris started. “But ultimately, all of the unique roles you may take can be reduced to several innate qualities. You do not bear the appearance of a Vritra-blooded mage. You are remarkably powerful, far beyond what would be expected of your age. You bear a single rune, yet this can easily be cloaked. And most of all, your true magics are those of formless and organic casting, like those of the Dicathians we will soon meet.” With each point made, she tapped a finger against the hardwood table, causing the illusory map to ripple.

I traced the line of Seris’ thinking, feeling more and more uncertain as they went on. I thought I might see what she was trying to get at. “Considering what you’re saying,” I said slowly, “I’m guessing you want me to be some sort of spy? Infiltrate the Dicathian ranks; report on information I gather?”

Seris shook her head, her long tresses of shimmering silver swaying. “That is a good guess, Lord Daen, but not what I had in mind. I suspect spying and remaining undercover are not among your strong suits, plenty though those may be.”

Unbidden, I felt a slight smile stretch across my face. Though I was perhaps less than subtle, I had managed months of activity in a foreign world, working to try and undermine the High Sovereign in ways both simple and complex. Perhaps I was not as thorough as Seris herself, but a sizeable portion of my existence on this continent was a lie.

Then that smile flickered and faded as I thought of Greahd once more. I hadn’t been as subtle and quiet as I thought I’d been, and it had cost me the life of someone dearly close to me.

“Then you’ll have to fill me in,” I said, my voice surprisingly even. That was also something I was good at faking. “I can’t figure out where this is going.”

Seris moved around the table, her fingers brushing the silverish sheen of mana. I watched as she stood closer, facing Darv as I was on the map.

“We enter this land as conquerors for our Sovereigns,” Seris said solemnly, her eyes fixed on the country of the dwarves. “Most enter this war for accolades. For glory and recognition. But that is not the point. These dwarves–and eventually the elves and humans of the continent as well–will be under the total dominion of the Vritra Clan.”

I breathed out. I planned to improve this world; to make the outcome of the war better for all. But when it came to Alacrya’s technological advantage, greater population of mages, and sheer culture of warfare, I could not fathom an outcome where Dicathen emerged as the victor in this war, no matter what actions I took. Seris was right. Dicathen would come under the sway of the Vritra. It was inevitable.

And you will help contribute to that, part of me acknowledged. You will further the imperialistic goals of a mad god. How far will you go as you do so? How will you keep your soul clean?

I swallowed, but Seris was not done. “But there is a fundamental misunderstanding among the players of this war, Lord Daen,” she said, looking into my eyes. “We may be conquerors, but we are also integrators. There will be a time after the war between ‘lessers’ is done. When Alacrya and Dicathen must unite together as one to fight a greater threat beyond, regardless of their differences and reservations. For there are greater causes than fighting for our own petty glories.”

Perhaps any other Alacryan would think of the eventual clash between Agrona and Epheotus as the Scythe spoke. The meat grinder of war that the citizens of this continent expected to one day face as they marched on the land of the gods themselves for their Vritra overlords.

But I saw something else. I saw a woman working to pull together a thousand matchsticks into a cohesive whole, the resulting strength great enough to withstand the blow of any steel. I saw the determination of a woman set on freeing not just her own people, but all peoples from the grip of the asura.

Seris planned a rebellion. And in her eyes, I saw her rejection of the Fate Agrona tried to lay before her people.

I felt my heartbeat quicken in my chest as that realization threaded through me, something deep and warm coursing along my veins in tune. I was sure it must have been audible to the woman in front of me.

I’d seen so much death and destruction in my relatively short time in this world. I’d faced many monsters that wanted to tear everything down; wished for nothing more than fire and death. Sometimes it felt like I was alone in my desires for things to improve. And every time I saw another with hopes for the better–Darrin and Greahd–they were snuffed out.

But Seris wasn’t Darrin. And she wasn’t the Mother of Fiachra.

Here is where rebellion starts, I thought. Here is where we lay the seeds.

“And what is my place in this cause?” I asked, my voice serious despite myself. Seris searched my eyes, inspecting them in a way that made me even more uneasy. That deep, knowing curiosity in her called to me. I wanted to step closer, to take that hand of hers in mine. To ask her how she had found the courage and power to do this.

“You bear a power with you, Toren,” Seris said softly. I could almost taste it in her masked intent. She wanted to move closer, too. “A power to bridge unbridgable gaps. To span unspannable chasms. To foster true understanding between those who should never share it.”

But in the end, the Scythe of Sehz-Clar did not take that step. She laid a palm over the Kingdom of Darv, the silverish mana rippling from her touch. “Our dwarven allies will be the first you shall learn of,” she said. “Their culture, their traditions, their wants, desires, needs–you shall endeavor to understand it all. In turn, you shall work to show the dwarves our own culture. You shall be my integrator. A go-between between our peoples.”

I breathed out, closing my eyes as I allowed myself to imagine her words. Dwarves, elves, and humans eventually working together to rebel against their Sovereign gods, all threaded together with an underpinning goal.

It was an idealistic idea. A long shot, even. Logically, I might even point at it and call it impossible.

But so was the concept of rebellion against Agrona. Against Kezess.

“By the dragons above,” Aurora said in wonder. “She is an ambitious soul. She is a blade indeed, wielded against her very masters.”

It was the knife that you trusted that cut deepest. And Seris planned to thrust a knife deep into the heart of the Vritra’s rule.

And the more I considered it, I thought of the late djinn, J’ntarion. His dying words replayed in my mind many more times than I could count. And once again, the words Norgan spoke to me as I endured my First Sculpting swirled in tandem like putty.

The path to peace is paved with understanding.

We would need war first. Only with war could we start working toward peace. But I could help lay those foundations.

Maybe I wasn’t some god-slaying monolith like Arthur would be. But that didn’t mean I had no place in this war; in this world.

“Okay,” I said, opening my eyes. “I’ll be what you need, Seris.”

Seris smiled softly, brushing my shoulder with her hand before she moved away. “That you shall, Toren,” she said, standing back near the head of the table. “But there is far more to war than just assignments.”

What comes after the war, I thought absently as Seris began to speak of supply distributions and the captains that would be in charge of different Alacryan posts. Somehow, I’d never truly engaged with what might come after I slew Nico. Some part of me always viewed that as the end of it all. There would be no need to plan after that, for all would be fulfilled.

But as I thought of this quiet rebellion, I found that there could be something after. I just needed to figure out what.