Toren Daen
Seris strode through the cavern toward the opposite edge, a small contingent of fellow Alacryans at her heels. Most of the small cavern around the teleportation gate remained kneeling as she swept past like a graceful reaper, her onyx eyes cold and impassive as she kept her gaze forward.
Behind us, the barrel-chested man who had first greeted the Scythe of Sehz-Clar–likely the captain of the divisions down below–nervously trundled after. As we walked, the pathways of people split, mages suffocated by Scythe Seris’ aura as she passed. Absently, I realized that I rarely even sensed the Scythe’s aura. She had a tendency to keep her cloaking artifact activated around me even now, but this presentation was a deliberately crafted one.
“What is the state of our recently deployed troops along the western coast of Sapin?” Seris asked brusquely.
Behind me, I sensed as the man’s heartbeat began to rapidly increase, his features paling as he swallowed. “Scythe Seris, I…”
Seris stopped abruptly, causing the captain behind us to lurch.
“What is their status?” Seris repeated, barely turning her head. And from the bare inflection of her intent, it was clear to both me and the poor captain that she would not ask again.
“Reports are sparse,” the man forced out, squeezing his eyes shut. “But it appears they were routed despite their ambush of the Dicathians near the town of Slore. Retainer Jagrette accompanied the formation, but we have yet to hear back from her.”
The man stood stock still, his heartbeat so loud I was almost certain it would be audible even to the untuned ears of Seris.
“You are not telling me everything, captain,” Seris scolded coolly. “You withhold information.”
The man gulped, and I felt a pang of pity for the man as his intent rippled with fear. He went back to one knee, his forehead glistening with sweat as he pressed it to the dirt beneath us. “There were rumored sightings of a young man with auburn hair wielding four elements on the side of the Dicathians,” he whispered. “It is suspected that Lance Godspell was present. And if Retainer Jagrette is not returning communication…”
The man trembled as he left the rest unsaid. Seris’ aura flared slightly in feigned anger–at least I believed it to be feigned–and she exhaled an irritated sigh through her nose. The air held a pregnant pause as the Scythe visibly considered her response.
But the captain’s words derailed my train of thought, calling to mind my bare brush with the newest Lance of Dicathen. I hadn’t been able to sense Arthur’s mana, seeing as it was masked under the effects of Mirage Walk.
But he could not hide his heartbeat from my ears. And just like Scythe Nico’s flaring lifeforce, so too did Arthur bear the telltale signs of rebirth. It was hard to describe: like a flower that had just come into bloom, or a sprouting shoot of grass after a long winter. There was a vibrant rhythm to it, utterly distinct.
My thoughts were forcibly drawn back to the situation at hand as I heard the bated breaths and ratcheting lifeforces of the kneeling Alacryans and dwarves all around. Seris looked ever-so-slightly displeased, a slight downturn to her lips as she appeared to inspect the captain.
This is another mask of hers, I thought, inspecting the nervous crowd around us. The fear they pulsed into the ambient mana was liquid and tarry, flowing like sap as I sensed it through their intent. The general who cultivates fear. The Scythe of Alacrya.
“Then it appears we must find the reason for this failure,” Seris said as she began to walk forward again. “Tell me, who leads the dwarves in this establishment?”
The barrel-chested Alacryan captain looked uncertain for the barest instant, but then relief washed over their features as they realized they weren’t going to be questioned on this any further. He raised his head from the dirt where he had been bowing “An older dwarven woman named Jotilda Shintstone commands the traitors,” he said. “She is currently working to expand our cavern network with her people.”
Seris nodded slowly. “Take me to her, Captain,” she ordered coolly.
The man swallowed, standing once more on shaky legs. “Yes, my Scythe,” he said.
Seris and I followed the man at a quick pace as he trudged through the tunnels. Everywhere we passed, dwarves and Alacryans alike bowed and averted their eyes, their fear at Seris’ aura keeping them still.
“So unlike Renea Shorn,” Aurora mused, echoing my own thoughts. “Where the employees of Bloodstone Elixirs loved and respected their master, these men cower like whipped dogs as she passes.”
She needs to act like the Scythe she is, I mused. But my thoughts darkened as we threaded down dim passageways.
I didn’t like these deep, enclosed caverns. The air was stuffy and hot from the myriad workers all around, and each tunnel seemed to press on me closer and closer. I missed the open air; the sensation of sunlight on my skin.
The deep underground reminded me of a dungeon far too much. Over my bond, I could feel Aurora’s trepidation as each step took us deeper into torch-lit darkness.
Before long, however, we reached our destination.
I heard them before I saw them. Echoing hammer blows rung out in a steady chorus of smashing rock. Again and again it went, the floor shaking beneath us with each strike.
“Don’t relent, you bastards!” a voice like a trumpet echoed out. “Feel the stone as it breaks and weathers away under your hammers! And keep that up! We are dwarves, my lads, and the earth will break long before our bones!”
I felt my eyebrows rise under my half-mask as the scathing–yet simultaneously encouraging–rant continued.
We finally stepped out into a wider cavern, the tunnel flaring out on both sides. Constructs of wood and stone arrayed the entire swath of rock before us, a site of massive construction stretching before us. Everywhere I looked, dwarves worked under torchlight as they hammered away at the surrounding rock. A few Alacryan soldiers lounged in the corners, bored as they stared out from their guard posts.
I restrained the urge to let my jaw drop. Towers of stone rose along carefully sculpted pathways, leading to slowly growing buildings and hovels of rock and earth. I watched as a dwarf gradually raised a wall of stone, allowing it to meld into another wall at a perfect angle. Their large hands clenched and unclenched, a satisfied smile stretching out from under their beard, which was nearly the exact color as the stone they’d just raised.
As Seris entered the large cavern, however, the dwarves gradually stopped in their work as her aura washed over them. A hundred eyes turned to us as the sounds of industry and life faded away as if smothered by a dark blanket.
Seris hovered in the air slightly as the attention of all in the cavern settled on her. She looked down on all those present as the torchlight flickered across her moonlight features. All around, I heard the terrified mutters of ‘Scythe’ as dwarf and Alacryan bowed in respect and fear. “Jotilda Shintstone,” she said simply. “Step forward.”
There was a tense silence throughout the cavern before a female dwarf stepped forward, her head bowed low.
“That is me, your ladyship,” she said, her voice a deep bass rumble–the same voice that I’d heard before entering the cave. “Jotilda Shintstone. At your service.”
The color had long since bled from Jotilda’s hair from age, leaving it a long, rusty gray color as it ran in a long braid down her back. As was her race’s tendency, she was quite short, the top of her head only coming up to my shoulder. She wore light-plated armor like she was still a youth, yet the wrinkles on her almost blocky face told me her true age.
Internally, I allowed myself a bare bit of amusement at how similar her accent sounded to a Scottish one.
Seris inspected the woman briefly. “I have been told that you lead the dwarves within this hideout, Elder Shintstone,” the Scythe said. “Is this true?”
Jotilda shifted nervously, but nothing more. “Aye, your ladyship. I work in direct contact with Elder Rahdeas. These dwarves follow my orders as they are handed down from the Elder himself.”
Seris made a show of slowly looking at the Alacryan soldiers stationed around the cavern, then back to Jotilda. The dwarf shrank slightly as if she were facing the maw of a great beast, but I had to commend her spine.
“Your Scythe sends her messages subtly,” Aurora commented. “Though this dwarf may follow Elder Rahdeas, Seris will not allow her to forget who truly holds power in this cavern.”
“I have just arrived on this continent and have many tasks to complete,” Seris said simply. “Thus, the dwarves of Darv will not have my direct supervision or direction. In my place, however, is one equally suitable.”
I felt an almost palpable wave of curiosity and confusion echo out as the many soldiers present shifted.
“Lord Toren of Named Blood Daen will act as my voice and hand when I am not present,” Seris said simply, allowing herself to lower in the air. “Some of you may have heard of him and his exploits across Alacrya. He will work with you to enforce the further cooperation of dwarf and Alacryan throughout this war.”
On cue, I stepped forward, bearing the looks of most present in the cavern. More than a few were actively hostile.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Right when I first came to this world, such concentrated attention would make me wilt and turn away. But after standing in a meeting room with every single Scythe alongside the Lord of Alacrya himself, I found that this was a rather paltry thing to endure.
I remained silent as Seris turned, giving me one last look over her shoulder before hovering out of the room. Her aura went with her, the restrained tempest retreating and allowing the cavern to breathe. The torches–which had appeared to dim under the weight of Seris’ presence–suddenly flared back to their normal brightness.
The dwarves had been somewhat stunned into silence by the speedy entrance, declaration, and exit of the Scythe. If it weren’t such a serious setting, I would have found it amusing.
Instead, I strode forward as the dwarves all around slowly pulled themselves uncertainly to their feet, hammers and tools in hand.
“So,” I said amicably to the suspicious look from Jotilda Shintstone, “My name is Toren Daen. It seems we’ve been stuck together for the foreseeable future,” I said, holding out a gloved hand for her to shake.
Elder Shintstone looked down at my hand, then back up to the mask on my face. “Aye,” she said stiffly. “It seems we have been, Alacryan.”
Well, I should have expected a degree of hostility.
Seeing as she wouldn’t shake my hand, I withdrew it awkwardly with a sigh. Business only, then. “I’m going to need a basic rundown on the current status of your operations,” I said with a bit more sternness. “If I’m going to be your connection to Scythe Seris, you’ll have to afford me that, regardless of how you feel about me.”
Jotilda barked a gruff snort, her armored body rippling from grim mirth. “I guess I cannot deny you that, Lord Daen,” she said, turning on her boots. “Follow me, if you can.”
I followed after Jotilda as she began to march away, the many men and women around us gradually returning to their work. She marched up a winding stone pathway, the two of us drawing eyes as we went.
I imbued a bit of mana into a certain part of my mask, allowing the armor to quickly retreat back into its pendant form. Jotilda spared me a look as the armor retreated, vanishing as if it were never there. I simply raised a brow until she huffed again, stomping back along the pathway.
“We are making bunkers and barracks now,” Jotilda started, pointing a finger at a few working dwarves nearby. “When Elder Rahdeas sent us to meet up with your incursion, we expected you all to have basic amenities and survivability in a cave. But apparently, that’s what we are here for, because you Alacryans couldn’t make something nice out of a cave even if a tunnel worm bit you on the arse.“
I tilted my head as I endured the stares of the many dwarves around us. “Are you always this blunt with your hostility?” I asked lightly. “I have the distinct impression that you’re going out of your way to add a barb with every sentence you speak.”
“You noticed that, did you?” Jotilda said a little caustically. “Now, we’re getting somewhere,” she said, pushing on. “I am not under your command, Lord Daen. It is Elder Rahdeas I serve for his vision for the dwarven people. I don’t follow your orders.”
I stopped on the pathway, forcing Jotilda to do the same. We stood along a narrow strip, a long, steep fall stretching to either side of us. “I’m not demanding you follow my orders,” I said with a sigh. “But I also won’t let myself be constantly disrespected.”
I’d grown accustomed to keeping my power contained with such precision that only the most adept could sense my mana, hoarding each mote of mana with a jealous grasp. My constant assimilation of energy throughout both my body and mind had further enhanced this power, as I needed to maintain a constant state of mana spread across my limbs. Thus I could understand that this woman might have thought me a pushover, considering she could sense nothing from my core.
But I allowed a little bit of my true intent to flow along the ambient mana as I slightly loosed those restraints. “I am here to work with you, Elder Shintstone, not exchange hidden knives with our words for eternity,” I said, my words punctuated by the ambient mana flexing slightly. I noted how the dwarven woman’s hand inched toward an axe on her belt, her eyes widening as she sensed a modicum of what I could do.
Then I pulled my power back in, holding it in constant stasis once more. “We are allies in this war, not enemies. And I came here to treat you as one, not fight every inch of the way.”
I stared down the dwarven elder for a beat more before she barked another bassy laugh. “Stones, you aren’t lying, are you?” she said, shaking her head. Then she turned back around, looking toward the path once more. “Come along, then. We have around a hundred dwarves stationed in this hideout,” she grunted. “Water, as always, is scarce. Food is sandshark jerky or whatever we can scavenge from the surroundings without leaving traces.”
I listened to the woman as she explained the basic logistical statistics of this cavern. What they’d been expecting, how long the dwarves had been there, and more. As we walked, I passed dwarves molding earth like putty, creating towers and intricate crenelations throughout the cavern.
I felt a pang of pain in my gut as I watched a young dwarven man carve intricate designs into one of his walls. There wasn’t a deep variance in color between all the stones used, yet each of the dwarves was able to use perspective and shadows as if they were natural.
Hofal would have loved this, I thought, my eyes tracing the designs. An entirely new style of architecture for him to learn and explore.
“Are you gonna spend the rest of the day staring, Lord Daen?” Elder Shintstone said from a ways further down the path. “Or are you going to move your arse?”
I shook my head, wrenching my head away from the scene. The wounds of both Hofal and Karsien’s death were still raw and tender; each reminder sending pangs through my heart. And Greahd…
I needed to refocus myself. Pull my attention away.
I pointed at a group of dwarves as they hammered their way through a cave wall, moving at an astounding pace as the rock seemed to melt away from their touch.
“How exactly do you decide where to make your tunnels?” I asked. “You certainly need to worry about structural stability and potential collapse along these tunnels, but you seem to be doing just fine.”
Jotilda snorted again, something I realized was probably a habit of hers. ”Our magic isn’t as limited as yours, Lord Daen. We can shape the earth to do whatever–to be whatever–we need. If structural stability is your concern, then a further layer of bolstering earth can be conjured along the roof and sides.” She slammed a gauntleted fist against her breastplate. “Never underestimate dwarven craft, Alacryan.”
I chuckled slightly. “I never did,” I said lightly. “Seris sent me here for a reason, I promise.”
The dwarven elder gave me a sideways glance. “So, that scary woman is your master, then?”
“In a way,” I acknowledged lightly. “She teaches me the blade and will be in command of me throughout this war, but I wouldn’t call her my master, per se.”
“Interestin’,” the old dwarven woman said, turning off the path so that we were closer to the cavern wall. “From what the other Alacryans say, everything in your continent is based on the purity of blood and dedication to your Vritra, and you seem awfully reluctant to admit that she is your master.”
“And these dwarves are reluctant to see that the Vritra shall be their masters soon,” Aurora commented lightly in my head, mirroring my thoughts once again. “How ironic.”
We reached a squat tower that overlooked the rest of the cavern. Despite the slightly tongue-in-cheek nature of Jotilda Shintstone’s comment, I did find myself thinking of Seris once more, questioning where exactly I currently stood with the Scythe. I wasn’t exactly in a regular military position, so I had no real authority to command anyone. Simultaneously, I would be reporting directly to her, which gave me a level of political and precedential power that was rare.
“Your quarters are there, Lord Daen,” Elder Shintstone said, pointing a meaty finger up at the top of the tower. “Gives you a good view of the rock.”
I tilted my head, looking up at the dim tower. “Before you go, Elder Shintstone,” I said, “I want to know something.”
The elder, who had begun to walk away, paused as she turned back to me. “Aye, Lord Daen?”
“Why did you decide to rebel against your countrymen?” I asked. “To choose Alacrya over Dicathen?”
The woman snorted caustically, her intent flaring with anger. “We didn’t choose Alacrya, Lord Daen,” she said stiffly. “We chose Darv. Have a good day.”
The elder marched away. From how her mana sparked, I was worried her steps would collapse the short pathway up to this tower.
I furrowed my brow as I watched her go, feeling as if I had misstepped somehow. Yet I hadn’t said anything wrong, had I?
I shook my head as I banished those thoughts. There were things I needed to do.
—
A few hours later, I sat cross-legged in my makeshift cavernous quarters. They were large; larger than my apartment way back in East Fiachra.
My quarters, I thought with grim amusement. How amusing is it that I finally have a stable base, and it’s only on the other continent?
In the months since I’d come to this world, I never truly had a solid base to call my own. Sometimes I slept within the Cistern in East Fiachra. Other times, I rented a room in an inn within the Relictombs. And still other times I simply camped within a zone that I was trekking through.
I hadn’t had a place to truly come back to for months.
Aurora’s songbird relic settled down nearby, the bronze soulmetal talons gripping the sturdy iron bars of a bedframe. “This place is stifling,” she said with a hint of irritation. “I know not how long I can stand this underground cavern. Without the kiss of the breeze. It is… anathema to the way of the phoenix.”
I sighed. “I know,” I said. “If it makes you feel any better, what I need to do next will take us out of these caverns.”
Aurora’s steampunk songbird tilted its head. “You have plans to alter this world’s future once more?” she pressed.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “But I need to make sure it's possible, first. Run a few tests in the Beast Glades.”
Thoughts of the future, however, drew my mind back to Arthur Leywin. The reincarnated King Grey, pulled to this world as an anchor for greater things.
It was surreal, brushing so close to the man who was my point of view for so many years. I withdrew my notes on The Beginning After the End from my dimension ring, absently flipping through the pages. If I were right about the timeline, Arthur’s confrontation with Uto would happen only a few days from now. Then he’d go on a two-month training spree with his elders.
I read through my coded words, feeling a strange sort of melancholy as I deciphered them in my head.
Lance Olfred slain by Lance Aya north of the town of Ashber, I read, noting my neat handwriting. Aya may have felt remorse. Olfred had no thoughts of regret in his death, only respect for Aya.
“Before I came to this world,” I said after a moment, “I loved stories so, so much. I loved growing into the shoes of a character, watching them change, adapt, and fail, just so they could succeed later on,“ I said quietly. The darkness in this entire cavern seemed to swallow me whole. “But now, I am faced with the reality that it wasn’t just a character. I hate Agrona for what he did to my mind, Aurora. Even more for what he did to yours. But I know the deepest thoughts and fears of so many people I may never meet, simply because of a book. It is… discomforting.”
Aurora’s puppet fluttered over to my shoulder, landing there and allowing her talons to dig into my shirt. Though her claws were razor sharp, my bond was somehow able to stop the little construct from shredding my clothes with a bare touch.
“It is a burden you must bear,” she said quietly. “It is not the same as Agrona though, I assure you. Were you to return to your old world, would you continue to read this novel of yours, knowing what you do now?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “No, I wouldn’t,” I acknowledged. “I still am not sure how TurtleMe gained such knowledge of this world. Or what he did.”
Aurora’s feathers ruffled, a sound like a dozen knives sharpening echoing out. “Truthfully, my bond, I am not sure I wish to know.” She paused. “I think… I think it best we never know.”
I looked out at the milling dwarves down below, feeling a strange sense of cold spread across my body.