Toren Daen
I stepped into the Town Zone, expecting the usual empty street stretching out before me.
Instead, I nearly tripped over a mess of wires that was as thick around as my arms. I cursed internally as I gingerly wove around the wires–which glowed electric blue–and inspected my surroundings.
These past couple of weeks, I’d been training meticulously with Seris. But I’d also been regularly going on ascents, cataloging zones for Sevren and adding to his library of mapped pocket dimensions. And every time I returned to the Town Zone, it had been a little more chaotic.
But wires right in front of the portal? Come on. I felt my sense for cleanliness scrape against my bones at the blatant disorder.
Those wires led from Sevren’s mana-gathering setup all the way to one of the houses, the lines snaking in the front door. I felt my brow raise as I looked at the brief collage of mad science within. “Stars above, Sevren,” I muttered. “You could stand to make this a bit neater.”
“I’ve been trying to tell him that for weeks,” a suffering voice said from the side. “But he somehow manages to keep adding stuff here. And even though I’m the one going on ascents with him, I still can’t figure out where he gets all of it.”
I felt a smile split my face as I turned to Caera. The navy-haired noble turned her nose up in distaste at the mess of wires on the ground, clearly annoyed as she also had to maneuver around the mana cables. “But my brother’s been expecting you. And his secret project is ready.”
I walked toward Caera, making sure not to kick the live wire near my feet. “This wouldn’t happen to be the secret project that he’s been hinting at for weeks, but neither he nor you will tell me a single bit about?”
Caera smiled impishly. “Well, it might just be that secret project,” she said, a hint of mystery in her voice. “You’ll have to see for yourself.”
I grunted in amusement as I followed Caera into the house, quietly wondering what I would find inside. The inside of the house–this one leaning towards Alacryan in origin–was littered with various machines, humming artifacts, and tools that I had no idea as to their purpose.
Caera stopped in front of a door, a deep, bloody light emanating from beneath the frame. When she turned to look at me, there was an uncertain cast to her face. “Hey, Toren,” she said, “I, uh… wanted to thank you. For all you’ve done for my brother and me. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to go on ascents with him and grow so much stronger without your help. It’s changed my life, and I don’t know when next I’ll be able to express that gratefulness.”
I nodded. “I’m glad I made a difference,” I said honestly. “But you’re not done yet. I’m not sure how many zones there are in the Relictombs, but you’ll hate it eventually,” I added with a wry smirk. “Try not to strangle Sevren when I’m gone.”
Caera huffed, holding out her fist. “No promises, Spellsong,” she said in a mocking tone. “Try not to let Scythe Seris break you in her training regimens. I’ll pray to whatever gods are out there that you’ll manage your saber forms properly.”
I shuddered slightly as I bumped my fist against Caera’s. Seris was not lenient in her training. “Also no promises,” I replied, before stepping into the room.
Sevren stood near a bed, a pair of goggles over his head as he tinkered with something on a long table. His white hair was matted with sweat, casting it in a more silver shade. I saw how sweat soaked his clothes, evidence of long work.
As the door shut behind me, Sevren looked up, his shadowed teal eyes finding my own. He pulled his goggles up from his face, exhaling an exhausted breath.
“Toren,” he said excitedly, stepping past whatever he was working on. “I’ve been waiting for the past few days–relative in the Relictombs, I know–but I’ve finally finished it.”
I blinked as he took me by the arm, practically hauling me forward. “Finished what? I know you’ve been working on something for a little while, but you refused to give me any details.”
“Just look,” Sevren said as explanation.
The Denoir heir had led me to the table where he’d been tinkering, excitedly showing me what his attention had been focused on. And immediately, my eyes widened in utter surprise.
“Sevren, what… Is this what I think it is?” I said breathily, seeing the purpose immediately.
A mechanical arm lay stretched open across the table. It was smooth and polished, formed of interlocking plates of familiar bronze metal, though I could swear it had a more maroon undertone than I remembered. A dozen different devices protruded from the edges of the artificial limb. A long, sharp blade protruded over the top of the forearm past the fingers, extending a few feet in length. I noticed a spool of familiar hairavant wire extending from the wrist, while what looked like a chamber for bullets was propped open along the shoulder.
It was strangely beautiful. There was an artistic way to how the plates interlocked perfectly, creating a semblance of each muscle in the arm. The curves and flows of the metal held a mathematical precision that drew the eye and awed in the way a sculpture would.
I felt a tingling sensation spread from my core as I recognized exactly what I was looking at. After all, Sevren was missing one arm. And here was a replacement.
“The hardest part was actually forcing the metal you gave me from the relic–I’ve taken to calling it soulmetal–to even warp. That stuff is absurdly durable, and practically nothing I did to it managed to damage it at all.”
I turned robotically to Sevren as he continued to speak, feeling a measure of awe as I stared at the mad inventor. Deep within my mind, Aurora chuckled with deepest amusement.
“That was until I let every relic feather you gave me soak in a vat of fresh blood for a few days. After taking the metal out, it was as malleable as putty. I was able to fashion it into the shapes I needed before it solidified back to its former strength, but it provided a unique challenge.”
“Sevren, you… made yourself another arm,” I said, feeling stupid even as I said the words.
Sevren huffed. “Yes, I did,” he said, flexing the stump of his right shoulder. “But I can’t attach it. That’s beyond my expertise.”
I blinked, seeing what he was aiming for. “That’s why you need me. To connect the arm with heartfire.” Then I hesitated. I’d reattached arms before with my healing abilities, but only when the injury was recent and there was a tether to reconnect in both limb and body. But this… this was different. “I don’t know if I have the abilities I need to do this.”
The Denoir heir’s shoulders slumped as he walked back toward the arm where it lay like an offering to a god. He stared at it for a long, long moment, his eyes tracing the graceful curves of the outline.
“I learned the truth of why Abigale was taken,” Sevren said quietly. “Do you want to know?”
I swallowed, surprised by this change in direction. I looked intently at the white-haired striker, seeing for the first time the utter exhaustion that seemed to burden him like a weighted blanket.
“She gave herself up willingly,” Sevren continued, “So I wouldn’t be taken instead. She talked about it with my mother. Made peace with her fate.”
I took a few steps forward, standing next to my friend in a gesture of silent support. Yet he kept talking, his eyes riveted to his creation.
“These past few months, I realized something,” Sevren said, finally looking up from his creation. “The djinn, J’ntarion, said my method of obtaining insight into aether was flawed. That I wouldn’t be able to follow in his footsteps with my current methods. And perhaps he was right about that. But what that truly revealed to me was that my reasons for chasing aether… they were insubstantial.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Sevren forged on. “I had a vain hope that I could find something in these Relictombs, understand some sort of aspect of aether, and I’d be able to magically will away all the problems plaguing my life. Aether can do anything, I thought.”
The ascender looked at me with pits of molten green. “I was wrong,” he snarled, slamming his sole fist into the table. It rattled, an indent appearing under his knuckles. “Aether isn’t all-powerful. It isn’t the end-all be-all fix for everything. Vivum can’t wipe away wounds on the mind. Spatium can’t separate the people of Alacrya from their oppressors. And Aevum can’t make every weathered abuse feel instantaneous. I used this search as a crutch to avoid taking the truly dangerous steps I needed to to make this world better.”
“You showed me the folly of that,” Sevren whispered. “I was content to just wall myself off in these Relictombs, chasing after a vain hope. But you went out, spreading your music and understanding. Something I sneered at as impossible, simply because I was too afraid to try. And you succeeded where I failed.”
“Sevren,” I said slowly. “You didn’t fail. Look at all you’ve accomplished here,” I said, instinctively trying to support his accomplishments.
“But I did fail,” Sevren said, his hand clenching in turn with his teeth. “The outside world changes, Toren, while everything in the Relictombs remains static. But after I have this arm, that is going to change.”
I felt the burning resolve in his intent, not unlike Naereni’s. The surefire desire to see a better tomorrow: to make it happen.
“Okay,” I said at last, “Then let’s graft an arm, shall we?”
—
Sevren laid on the nearby bed, the stump of his right shoulder slotted into the bronze soulmetal arm he’d crafted. The gadgets embedded within had retreated at a few prods of mana from the Denoir heir, and he’d prepared himself for this.
I exhaled, tuning out all distractions as I engaged my Acquire Phase. Sevren’s pulsing red heartfire appeared over his chest, my sense for the aetheric energy increasing tenfold. My fingers twitched only once before I allowed them to steady, the fugue state I engaged in whenever I performed surgery taking over my mind.
The skin has fully grafted over, I thought, No exposed blood vessels or nerves to connect to the arm of soulmetal.
I thought I understood why Sevren had decided to use this bronze soulmetal for his prosthetic arm. It was a perfect insulator for heartfire, storing it without a hint of lost energy. And if I wanted to try and connect Sevren’s lifeforce to this arm, then it made a fair amount of sense.
I chanced a glance at my friend’s other arm. While I couldn’t outright see the lines of his veins, I could hear the pulse of his blood as it flowed along his vessels. The way it stretched and looped.
I just needed to do that, didn’t I? I needed to mirror that… that loop.
I exhaled, then allowed my intent to mesh with Sevren’s as I brushed my hand against the stump of his shoulder where it connected to the prosthetic. He remained silent, knowing the quiet I needed for this work.
I called to his heartfire as I fell deeper into my fugue. I knew my best friend’s deepest worries; how he feared for the future of his family. How he dreaded the retribution of his Sovereigns, but hated them more. I knew his burning hope and resolve, kindled in the fires of suffering and struggle.
My hand feathered over the stump of his arm as our lifeforces synchronized.
Nothing happened. There was no wound to heal; no pain to wash away. My usual healing abilities were pointless here. No, what I needed…
I thought of how I could project my own heartfire past my body, pushing it out in familiar veins of energy. Yet those required continuous, conscious maintenance to uphold. How did I make that permanent? How did I stretch what Sevren already had, mimicking his other arm even when he no longer bore one?
The answer came to me a moment later, flashing like a beacon in my mind. I’d been practicing an approximation of Circe Milview’s three point array, trying to mimic the effects of lifeforce within. And while I hadn’t managed to do so yet, there was a crucial aspect to the energies of both mana and heartfire that perpetuated the array.
The feedback loop, I thought. Within Circe’s array, the energy didn’t just flow to one destination, then dissipate. It continued in an endless, circular cycle, rotating around and around and around.
Like blood flows through the body, I thought, feeling as if I’d made another connection. It doesn’t just flow one way. It’s a reciprocal back and forth of energy. I failed to make that connection before, since the basis for my current insight–Aurora’s relic–only had one-way communication. But a true body’s flow of energy is a push and a pull, just like my telekinesis.
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I smiled as I pulled on Sevren’s heartfire. Just like hesitant putty, I saw as a long, thin tendril gradually stretched from the stump of his arm. I heaved slightly for breath as I guided the thin strand along the contours of the stretches of metallic muscle.
It was akin to trying to hold formless blood in my hands as I guided the thin vein of Sevren’s energy along paths only I could see. Simultaneously keeping my lifeforce beating at the same rhythm as my friend through it all added onto the strenuous nature of the task.
Without the constant healing practice I’d gone through these past few weeks, I would never have been able to attempt this.
I looped the energy through the hand, then pulled it slowly–painfully–back toward its source. I heard Sevren’s groan of pain as his lifeforce was pulled past what it normally allowed–like a tendon that had been stretched past its limit. I had to allow that pain into my own heartfire, too. I needed the utter sympathy.
And then I finally reconnected the energy to the stump on his shoulder. I heaved for breath as I finally let my hands drift away, my fingers trembling slightly as I watched the flow intently.
Would it dissipate? Was I wrong? The circular nature of the vein of heartfire should keep it perpetually stable, but…
“Toren,” Sevren started.
“Shush,” I reprimanded, keeping my eyes glued on that stream of heartfire across his arm. Yes, it seemed that a flow had been created. Energy seeped through the ochre soulmetal as if it were flesh, a remembered pathway reemerging.
“I can feel it,” Sevren said with a measure of awe. “I–It’s like I have an arm again. But I don’t. My sense of touch is so…”
“We’re not done yet,” I said, having caught my breath. “That was only one strand. But there are many branching paths that the arteries and veins in your arms take. And if you want full functionality, I’m going to have to extend this singular strand into a complex web.”
Sevren relaxed back into the bed. “Do what you need to, Toren,” he said breathily, his face coated with sweat.
And so I did. For the next several hours, I worked to extend those branches of heartfire. I wasn’t exactly making something new, per se, more stretching the branch of lifeforce back into what it had once been. As I continued my art, it felt more and more as if Sevren’s lifeforce itself were guiding me along, showing me the paths it used to take when he still bore his original arm.
But then I was finally done. Half a dozen arteries I couldn’t name but knew by heart now pulsed within the bronze confines of Sevren’s prosthetic. I stumbled backward as my Acquire Phase finally drifted back into my core, a bone-deep exhaustion permeating every inch of my body.
“I–I can feel my arm again,” Sevren said as I closed my eyes. He laughed as he stood from the bed. “It’s a strange sort of feeling. Not like before, but… I can move it, but not like before, either. I have to focus on it like I’m casting my emblem. But I have an arm again!”
I sank into a nearby chair, feeling as the leather practically swallowed my exhausted body. “That thing doesn’t have nerves,” I said droopily. “So you can’t feel or control it like normal. Probably can through some sort of magical bullshit, though.”
Sevren’s chuckles reached a crescendo. I opened blearly eyes, watching as he flexed his prosthetic. At a subtle pulse of intent, I watched as a blade erupted from the top of the forearm, extending out a couple feet.
It looked almost like a feather. The ridges and gleaming edges bore subtle engravings and runes that made it appear like the plumes of Aurora’s relic wings.
With a grin, Sevren twitched his wrist. The brassy blade–deadly sharp and gleaming in the low light–erupted from his wrist like a bullet. I watched as a bolt of hairavant wire–the same wire he’d used so long ago–trailed the blade from a handle. It sank deep into the wall far away.
Then Sevren casually engaged his regalia, tugging on the wire and allowing the dagger to shoot back to his hand. With a casual movement, the dagger slotted back over his hand.
His main arsenal is back, I thought, impressed. Now he’s gonna be able to dart around and cinch enemies with his strings again.
“That’s actually pretty damn cool,” I said, my tone appreciative. “Anything fancier you can do? There’s no way you made this arm without some more cool gadgets.”
Sevren smiled madly, then he pointed his palm at the window. I watched in a mix of mute awe and fascination as a hole opened along his prosthetic shoulder. Sevren popped something from a dimensional storage, holding it in his other hand. I only vaguely recognized that he’d somehow integrated dimensional storage into his arm.
I stared at the item blankly. It was a bullet. A massive bullet, easily bigger than two of my fingers. It had a wicked sharp point as the cartridge extended for nearly half a foot, and a strange coil of mana churned within the projectile.
I looked from the bullet, to Sevren’s manic grin, then back to the bullet.
“Sevren,” I said quietly, as if I were prodding a live bomb, “Maybe you should test that in a more suitable–”
“No time like the present, Toren,” he said with an insane cast on his face. I watched as Sevren shoved the cartridge into his shoulder, then flexed in a strange way. The arm sealed over, stowing the cartridge inside.
Then Sevren pointed his hand at the window, the endless expanse of the Town Zone stretching into the distance. His wrist folded downward, the hand hinging as it disconnected with a bunch of clicks. It revealed yawning darkness within.
Sevren’s shoulder glowed with electric light, a buzzing sound scratching at my eardrums. The creases in the plates of his arms pulsed as light slowly raced down to his wrist, lighting crackling from beneath the metal.
Oh. Oh fuck.
I layered a sound shroud over my ears in expectation. Sevren’s body glowed darkly as he engaged his regalia, Dictate of Mass, but strangely, his new arm glowed the inverse as it meshed with the tendrils of lightning. He shifted his stance, lowering in a bracing posture. I saw his mouth move as I jumped to the side, ducking for cover.
A thunderclap that shook the entire house erupted from Sevren’s arm. I barely saw a streak as the bullet shot through the window, but despite the Denoir heir’s regalia, he was sent flying through a nearby wall from the kickback, wood splintering and dust flying.
A few paintings on the walls shook and fell as what I presumed was a deafening sound echoed out. My eyes were glued to the crater where the bullet had impacted far in the distance.
Caera darted into the room a moment later, her face a mask of worry. She quickly identified where her brother was located, his body making a crater in the upper stories of the house.
“What in the hells was that noise?!” Caera demanded. “It sounded like one of your gun things, but nothing so–”
Sevren coughed fitfully as he exhumed the dust from his system. He appeared unharmed from his makeshift flight, if a little dazed. “That, my dear sister,” he said, his voice rasping, “Was progress!”
“Sevren, please tell me the next time you plan to fire a hand cannon,” I said, though I felt a smile stretch across my face as Sevren dusted himself off–with two hands. “I think you could kill damn near anything with that attack.”
My best friend huffed. “The real powerful cartridges are rare and difficult to make,” Sevren said, flexing his arms. I saw a spent shell eject from his prosthetic shoulder. “But my biggest weakness before was my inability to use Dictate of Mass on my own body. It would break from the stress before I could truly use it to its full potential. But with this new arm?”
Sevren clenched his fist, a sound like rending steel echoing out. “I’m not so limited anymore.”
We stood there for a moment–all three of us, staring at Sevren’s new arm–before he blinked, seeming to remember something.
“And speaking of bronze gifts,” he said. “There’s something else I made for you, Toren.”
—
For the second time that day, I felt a deep layer of surprise as I stared at one of Sevren’s creations. Except this wasn’t like his prosthetic arm.
Bronze soulmetal, tinted a slight, bloody red, stood out as it garbed a stiff mannequin. A coating of scalemail ran from the shoulders to the hips, providing ample protection all along the body in a magnificent gleam. Each of the singular scales looked like they must have been fashioned by a master smith, small feather-like details stretching on each part. A crimson cloth covered part of the torso.
Along the shoulders, forearms, and shins of the mannequin, more solid plates of that ochre metal stood stiffly, ready to deflect any blows or hardened strikes. Etched within were glowing orange runes that reminded me of my Second Phase. They blended in seamlessly with the scalemail–or was it feathermail?–creating an artistic transition that exemplified deadly grace. In my mind’s eye, I could imagine those plates shrugging off all but the most devastating of my plasma attacks.
And on the head of the mannequin, a mask awaited. It almost looked simple: a dark halfmask that covered the upper face, shielding my nose, cheeks, and forehead from prying eyes. Underneath one of the eyes, the symbol of Named Blood Daen burned brightly.
All of it came together to create an aura of power and mystique that I rarely felt any more. This looked like armor worthy of a Scythe–no, worthy of an asura. And here it was, just…
“I used what leftover metal I had to create this,” Sevren said simply, striding forward. He imbued a bit of mana into his hand, then tapped the fiery sigil of Blood Daen on the mask.
I watched, transfixed, as the armor seemed to fold inward on itself in a flash of light. Soon, there was only a simple pendant–also fashioned in the likeness of my Blood’s sigil–resting in his hand.
Sevren turned, offering the pendant out to me. “There are many dimensional armor artifacts talented imbuers make,” he said. “But I’d wager this one outclasses them all.”
I hesitantly accepted the pendant as it settled into my hands, feeling as if it weighed a hundred tons. “Sevren, I–” I started, feeling a lump in my throat. I wanted to deny this gift; to reject it. I hadn’t earned something so wonderful. Then I allowed my hands to clench around the necklace.
I exhaled a shuddering breath. “Caera, could I have a moment alone with your brother?”
Caera, who had been watching this moment fondly from the side, blinked in surprise. Her brows immediately furrowed as she looked to Sevren for guidance.
The Denoir heir seemed to sense the gravity of what I was about to say. “I haven’t checked on the mana gathering devices in a while,” Sevren said. “Could you make sure there isn’t any overflow? You remember what happened last time,” he said, giving Caera a knowing look.
She nodded hesitantly, her scarlet eyes flicking to me, before she left the room.
I looked at Sevren. Truly looked at him, as we were allowed this time alone. “I’ve never told you my final goal, have I?”
“You haven’t,” the Denoir heir affirmed. “Not truly.”
I exhaled, feeling as my body went rigid with tension. “I need to kill a Scythe, Sevren,” I said. “Scythe Nico needs to die.”
To his credit, the only showing of Sevren’s surprise was a slight widening of his eyes. He’d encountered too many strange things around me to view this as truly suspect. “And why do you need to kill Scythe Nico?” he asked. “Do you need to take his place, or?”
I shook my head, chuckling slightly. “No, that’s not it. I told you some of that land I visited, haven’t I?”
Sevren nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as they did whenever he entered deep thought.
“I didn’t tell you everything, Sevren,” I said. “Nico’s soul is from another world beyond this one. And alongside another like him, Agrona plans to use them both to draw something truly powerful to this dimension. The soul of a being with a capacity for perfect control over mana, enough that they could rip it from the asura themselves. With her, Agrona can truly end this war he has with Kezess Indrath. No more will he need the likes of Alacrya or Dicathen. Epheotus would be his only goal.”
I looked up at my best friend, feeling how my eyes flared with power. “And I won’t let that happen, Sevren. I’m going to stop it, even if it takes every drop of blood in my body.”
—
The soulmetal armor that adorned my body–alongside my new mask–felt light as a feather as I walked through the halls of Scythe Seris’ estate. Sevren’s craft fit me like a glove, the soundless mail accentuating my physique perfectly. The plated shoulders, forearms, and greaves reflected the low light as each step infused me with confidence. I felt as my core thrummed with power, an anticipation I could not contain building along my veins.
“This is it, Toren,” Aurora said, her touch feathering across my shoulder. “From here, there is no turning back.”
The moment we bonded together, Lady Dawn, there was no turning back, I replied with a slight smile. But I’m going to miss Alacrya, for all the hell I’ve experienced here.
The Unseen World washed over my vision, revealing the phoenix shade walking by my side. “It may not simply be goodbye, my bond,” Aurora said, her eyes fixed on where Seris Vritra, Scythe of Sehz-Clar, waited ahead beside a teleportation gate. “It may simply be a fond farewell. The connections you have made on this continent are not so easily left behind. They shall await your return, and whatever tidings you bring.”
A smile graced my lips as I stepped toward Seris, the Unseen World vanishing behind me. And I finally reached my destination.
Seris stood mutely at attention in front of an empty portal frame, her slim, petite figure utterly small in the face of its grandness. I thought it would make a wonderful painting. The kind that Renea Shorn would keep in her room of war.
“What do you think lays on the other side of this portal, Lord Daen?” Seris asked, not turning to look at me.
I knew exactly what lay on the other side. I’d read about this precise moment in a novel from another world. But as I recalled Seris’ old lament of what she wished to imagine on Dicathian shores, I realized that was the wrong answer.
“I think that there is opportunity beyond this portal,” I said after a moment. “Maybe not grand impossibilities, but more than you probably think.”
Seris spared me a single glance, her face softening from the iron mask she wore. “Truly a silver tongue you have, Lord Daen,” she said musingly. “But I don’t want half answers. Tell me what you imagine,” she commanded.
I tilted my head, tracing my eyes over the runes inscribed on the portal frame. “I think there is an opportunity for victory. Opportunity for change, across both continents. Opportunity for peace, so long as we play our cards right.”
Seris was silent for a moment. “We, Lord Daen?” she finally echoed in question.
“It’s a team effort, isn’t it?” I replied, walking forward slightly so that we were side by side. As close as I was really willing to get. “I can’t exactly do what you wish me to without your help.”
The Scythe folded her hands in front of herself, but didn’t immediately respond. Instead, the silence of Seris’ estate grew, contrasted only by the distant sound of waves crashing against a shoreline. I felt my hands tense as I imagined what lay beyond. All that I had prepared for.
This is it, I thought. This is where everything begins. Where nothing will be the same again.
And finally, a portal slowly fuzzed into existence within the frame, casting my armor in a reflective violet hue.
Seris didn’t spare me another glance. She stepped forward, entering the teleportation gate and leaving this continent behind.
I clenched my hands, feeling excitement, curiosity, and no little trepidation line my bones. Then I, too, stepped into the shimmering pane of purple.