Seris Vritra

“The forces in the Beast Glades are barely keeping together,” Cylrit’s voice echoed out from the communication artifact. “With the absence of Retainer Uto, they are uncertain and directionless. I have done my best to pull them into a semblance of order, my Scythe, but it is a grueling process. The Vechorians disdain being under the command of a Sehz-Clarian Retainer, especially as the majority are from war-centered Bloods. And considering my origins, many think me traitor to their dominion.”

I hummed in consideration. The Redfeud war was still fresh on the minds of many within Vechor who felt I had snubbed them of their deserved victory, and it appeared they were making trouble for my Retainer.

And it makes sense why they are so bitter being led by the Victorious Black Tower, I thought with a sigh. But I have little choice.

“Continue as you are, Cylrit. It may be some time before the forces come back under order,” I continued. After all, that was part of my intentions of breaking Uto. Now the majority of the Alacryan forces in Dicathen were directly or indirectly under my control. “But once they are, we will continue as the High Sovereign decreed.”

Cylrit continued his report for a bit longer as I listened. He’d taken control of the majority of the forces in the Beast Glades as they gradually collected mana beasts and corrupted them with beastwards. Eventually, the horde would be thrown at the Wall as a distraction from the eventual front along Elenoir.

“Report to me anything you deem necessary,” I said, preparing to end the communication. “I will be moving my forces to one of the backup bases in Darv. If you need to–”

My voice cut off as an overwhelming presence streamed through the cavern. My breath hitched and my eyes widened as I felt the sudden power, radiating from not far away. Sweat beaded along my skin, my fingers clenching.

An asura! I realized nearly immediately. Without thinking, I rose to my feet, feeling a tremor as it raced across my body. There is an asura here, in this cavern! Likely from Epheotus!

For all my power, I knew I was but an ant to a warrior asura. Yet my forces were theoretically protected from such an attack by Kezess’ treaty with Agrona, which had been even further enforced by the failed assault on Taegrin Caelum a few days ago. Was Lord Indrath so quick to break his oaths once more? Was he that eager to invite continental destruction?

I stood frozen for the barest instant, every single thought racing through my mind in a jumble. I hadn’t felt this kind of power since Agrona slew Varadoth. The pressure redoubled, palpable even from where I stood.

But then a single, burning thought pushed its way to the forefront of all the others. Like a nagging itch, it wrenched itself from the turbulence within my head, flashing like a warning sign in my mind.

That’s where Toren is, I realized with something between fear and resolve. He’s near that pressure.

I shot out of my rooms as the mana carried me aloft, pushing and pulling me in equal measure as I blurred toward the source of the presence. As I flew, I tried to concoct a plan. Something I could say to halt the asura’s hand. There were secrets I knew, of course. Of Agrona’s operations within Alacrya. If worst came to worst, could I afford to relinquish those if it meant sparing Toren?

I felt it difficult to focus as I appeared in the dwarven cavern, my mana thrumming around me and my core revving with power. I forced my fingers not to shake; demanded my body remain cool and tranquil. I gave the tall cavern a cursory glance, noting how the dwarves cowered in a dual-attribute fear: of me and my presence, and of the aura that radiated near the end of the cavern.

And if I focused, I could feel him. Toren was at the edge there, right in the center of that hurricane.

My asuran countermeasures will more than likely fail, I thought quickly, my mind drifting to the half-finished item in my dimension ring. It is not enough to bar a full-blooded asura.

I gathered my thoughts and assumptions about me like a weave as I prepared to confront this force regardless.

Before I could make a move, however, the outpour of power just… Stopped. It snapped, as if someone had stretched it too far, breaking it into innumerable different pieces. I blinked, momentarily stupefied at this whiplash of events.

But even if the asuran presence was gone, that didn’t mean all was well. Toren’s mana signature flickered weakly, like a slowing heartbeat. I felt my terror shift into an undercurrent of worry as my rational side took charge once more.

I shouldn’t have reacted without thinking, I scolded myself, smoothing over my features. It would have led nowhere constructive.

I flew quickly toward the building I knew Toren lay in, going over contingency plans and the ramifications of this event in my head. If an asura had just popped in and left, then it could potentially be viewed as another violation of the treaty. Were that the case, I’d have special precedence–however small–to try and influence the outcome.

But when I stepped through the doorway into the dark room that I sensed Toren within, what I saw made fury replace my trepidation.

Lance Olfred Warend, codename Balrog, stood over Toren’s body. A puddle of blood leaked beneath Toren’s prone, magma-coated form, while the dwarf hefted a warhammer of lava over his head.

I lashed out on instinct, engaging my mana. Dark mist streamed from my hands as it surged across the room, washing through the dwarven Lance’s body as he stood poised to bring his hammer down on Toren’s head.

I blurred forward, my hand wrapping around Olfred’s throat as his mana abandoned him. The dwarf’s eyes bulged as I looked down at him, my anger ripping apart my delicate mask.

I had gone out of my way to save this dwarf. To protect him in the wake of his discovery by the Council, then had given him refuge here in our base. For him to turn on us, to turn on Toren, made my blood boil. But even as I knew, logically, that Toren would be able to heal himself from whatever Olfred had done to him, I still couldn’t stop my fingers from squeezing tighter around the dwarf’s throat.

But even as I squeezed, I was absorbing everything around me. Like a sponge soaks up blood, the world seemed to feed me the pieces of this puzzle.

The asuran signature is gone, I thought analytically, my gaze drifting across the crumbling room. Fire-burned footprints lined the stone, as if someone had been walking away from Toren. My eyes snapped to the young mage’s weakened form. His eyes were hazy and unsure as he stared up at me from the ground, the depths delirious as blood dribbled from his nose. The rocks binding his arms and legs slowly turned to sand, then nothing at all.

Those bindings were haphazard, I thought, inhaling as I tasted the magic in the air. A paltry attempt to bind Toren. No… he wasn’t wounded by the Lance. The blood is from the pressure exuded by the asura, not Warend.

I loosened my grip ever-so-slightly on the dwarf’s throat, allowing him to gulp a mouthful of air: but he was still utterly under my power. He weakly gripped my arms, his eyes bulging as I watched him.

My gaze narrowed as I focused on the slight burn marks around Olfred’s chest and his absurd, abnormal heartbeat. “The asura was here because of you,” I whispered, restraining the urge to clench my fist around his throat again. My eyes tracked up to his face, drinking in his utter terror and slotting it away into this puzzle. “But you don’t know why, do you, Lance? You’re confused and terrified. Not just of me, no…“

That burning, furious fire in my stomach simmered down, becoming a cool, apathetic–

And then I noticed it. A single, flickering scale. A gleaming red eye that was of my very blood as it hid under the shade of my mana. It pulled on my mind; warped and twisted it with tiny, insidious tugs. Part of it had slipped out of the cage I’d made for it, and I hadn’t even noticed.

Why hadn’t I noticed it escaping?

I threw Olfred to the ground as this realization struck me. The dwarf sputtered and wheezed, but I blotted it out as I focused on shoving that mutant part of my blood back into its prison. I snarled slightly, my mana warping as I reasserted myself.

I hadn’t lost control. Not truly. My thoughts and emotions were being influenced slightly, of that I was certain. But if I had been allowed to go on…

“Seris,” Toren said weakly, pushing himself to his feet on trembling legs. “Don’t… don’t kill him. Not his fault,” he said blearily, that gaze of burning coal piercing my mind.

And immediately, I knew what had diverted my focus from keeping that tempered part of my basilisk blood hidden.

Not what. Who.

“Explain yourself, Lord Daen,” I snapped, my mana churning. I ignored the dwarven Lance as he wheezed on the ground, crossing my arms in front of my stomach. I held them there by an effort of will, refusing the urge to examine Toren for any wounds. “What happened here?”

Could he sense it? I wondered, working my jaw as I pinned him with my gaze. Sovereign Orlaeth could with his empathic abilities. He delighted in poking and prodding at it.

“Explain yourself,” I demanded again, my patience wearing thin. I took a threatening step forward. Toren didn’t step back, leaving us barely a few feet apart.

Toren looked down at Olfred uncertainly, then back to me. “Olfred wasn’t threatening me,” he said slowly, as if I were Mount Nishan on the verge of eruption. “I’m alright. Just a little shaken from something else, but that’s solved now. Nothing to worry about.”

He speaks as if he was my worry, I thought. I took another step forward, my aura flaring as I stood barely a foot away from Toren. He didn’t wilt under the pressure I exuded, even though his shoulders trembled. My expression thinned as I searched his eyes, looking for any hint of recognition. What do you see, Toren Daen? What do you sense?

I felt a cold sense of deja vu working through my veins. The last time you tore apart my cloaks, you saw a piece of it. Far and away in front of Bloodstone Elixirs when we slew those vicars.

But Toren had improved in hiding his expressions since then. I couldn’t tell what he had sensed this time.

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“I felt the presence earlier,” I snapped, failing to keep my voice even. I turned up my chin as I stared into Toren’s eyes, still searching to see if he had felt it. “The power that made itself known. An asura, no? You say that it’s solved?

Toren massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger–something he did whenever he was stressed or trying to think. My hands tightened from where I clasped them in front of me.

“I have some influence over… aether,” he finally said, looking back at me. “It’s how I’m able to heal myself and others. It’s what allows me to sense people without the use of mana,” he said reluctantly. “You probably guessed that, no?”

Indeed, I’d made that connection. From Sevren Denoir’s obsession with Toren to his undetectable healing ability, the conclusion was simple, especially with the knowledge that phoenixes were able to rebuild their bodies with aether.

But even as this puzzle piece was confirmed, I couldn’t allow myself to get sidetracked.

“What is the point of this, Lord Daen?” I demanded.

“When I fought Lance Aya,” he said hesitantly, “I sensed something that bound her heart. A chain. Tether. Vein. Whatever. But it was formed of aether, and I almost immediately knew what it was.” He snapped a glance to Olfred, who had sat himself up against a wall and was massaging his bruised throat. “And that guess was confirmed when I felt the same tether around Olfred.”

My eyes widened. “The Lance artifact,” I said in surprise.

Toren nodded, his golden-red hair swaying. “And, well… Olfred made a valid point to me. Even if I saved him from Aya, the one who held his Lance artifact was Aldir Thyestes, the three-eyed asura watching from the Dicathian side. He was bound to die soon regardless of my actions. But I’m not one to let such things slide.”

“So you made him an offer,” I said lowly, seeing the logical conclusion of this. “To free him of his artifact?”

“Yeah,” Toren said a bit sheepishly. He coughed weakly, massaging his chest with a bit of a pained look. “If he was going to die no matter what, I asked him if he wanted me to try and free him of his bonds. I didn’t know if I’d succeed, but… It worked. Olfred is free from his artifact.”

For a moment, I forgot about the room around me, my mind awhirl with this new piece. The implications were immense. Truth be told, I’d expected Olfred Warend to die eventually once General Aldir got around to activating the artifact. His death would motivate the dwarves, and he’d be a martyr that would push them forward.

I moved away from Toren, pacing back and forth as I held my chin in my hand. My head swirled with the possibilities, plans realigning themselves. New routes and avenues opened up as I recalculated my plans to try and account for this change. If Olfred Warend weren’t going to die…

At the edge of the room, Olfred Warend coughed in pain.

“This doesn’t explain the presence that was here,” I pointed out, finally getting my mind in order. I let none of my inner thoughts show on my face, determined to keep my mask in place.

Toren worked his jaw, his eyes flashing. “Aldir Thyestes,” he said quietly. “Pantheon and General for Lord Indrath. He still holds the dwarven Lance artifact. And I should have expected him to notice my prodding at the tether and react.”

I turned back to the young fire mage, my brow creasing. “And you fought through that pressure?” I asked, suitably impressed. “It retreated when you snapped the tether, then?”

“Yes,” Toren replied hesitantly, though the way his face twitched told me there was more to this story. “He shouldn’t be able to do that again.”

A silence stretched between us as his words settled in. My eyes absorbed Toren’s disheveled state, his warm eyes looking at me in turn. His clothing was drenched in sweat, revealing the toned outline of his upper body. I traced the contours of his chest and shoulders with my gaze, noting the steady rising and falling of his breathing.

He didn’t see, I realized, feeling slightly reassured. There are limits to his empathic senses then, hmmm? How will you play this then, Seris?

I felt my hands twitch where I held them. I hadn’t needed to rush here so impulsively. The reason why I’d ignored all sense and reason stood before me, looking irritatingly content with himself and with an even more irritating glimmer in his eye as he smirked at me. Those orange pupils flickered in the recesses of my mind, overlaid with the apathetic red of my memories.

You’re letting him get too close to you, Seris, I recognized. With all you have at stake, a single person shouldn’t cause you to lose all reason. To throw away all sense and risk. To give that demon in your blood a chance to crawl out of the pit you condemned it to.

“You did well with this,” I said evenly, coming to a decision. “With Lance Olfred no longer threatened by his artifact, our alliance with the dwarves can be truly cemented. Furthermore, if it is made known that Alacryan technology is what freed the dwarven Lance, then Alacrya shall be seen as a true equalizer in this war.”

Toren’s smile became more genuine as it stretched across his face. I felt my irritation with myself deepen as I traced the outline of his lips.

“But you did not talk with me first,” I continued sternly, hovering slightly in the air. “With something of such importance, it is paramount that you report to me, your Scythe, before any such attempt. Were you to fail, it would have appeared that you had assassinated the dwarven Lance right after saving him.”

Of course, Toren hadn’t spoken to me first. I’d encouraged him to act on his own judgment and work for the furthering of his cause, bringing dwarf and Alacryan closer. And as this event showed, that was the right decision. If Toren had brought this possibility before me, it was unlikely I would have accepted it. The risks were too great, even with the rewards at hand. But he’d succeeded.

And my foolishness had stopped the man from deferring proper respect to my title and station. Why should I expect him to treat me like a superior when I never treated him as a subordinate?

Toren nodded slowly. “You’re right about that,” he said quietly. “I should have informed you. But it was Olfred’s life in the balance. I thought it should be his decision, ultimately.” He paused. “Not an Alacryan’s.”

“Perhaps you would be right if the weight of our entire dwarven alliance were not at stake here.” I stared at Toren, narrowing my eyes as I finally cemented my plan. “For circumventing authority and performing unsanctioned actions during times of war, Toren Daen, you will need to be disciplined.”

Toren’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in irritation and indignation. I didn’t let that stop me. “Your position with the dwarves will be temporarily put on hold. There is a large contingent of soldiers within the Beast Glades that Retainer Cylrit is currently overseeing. For your actions, you will be placed under his command for a time until it is deemed you have rethought your insubordination. Am I clear?”

Toren’s face fell, clearly stuck in his own thoughts. I saw the traces of confusion and uncertainty in the knitting of his brow. I saw his determination in the slight twist of his lips. But I refused to look into his eyes.

It was said that the eyes were a window to the soul. It was safer to close than avenue when at all possible.

“I understand,” Toren said slowly, his voice straining with irritation. “When will I be leaving?”

I turned away, striding toward the door. Toren was forced to move aside, lest I clip him with my shoulder. “I will have my tempus warp prepared soon,” I said. “Await my orders until then, Lord Daen.”

“Seris?” Toren called out as I reached the doorway.

I stopped in my tracks. You should reprimand him, a part of me acknowledged. He does not call you ‘Scythe.’ He does not know his place beneath you. That is why you failed today.

But there was something strangely comforting in Toren’s earnesty. For all that I logically knew I should assert our places here and now to avoid failures in the future, I could not bring myself to do so.

“What is it, Lord Daen?” I asked, my voice even from decades of practice.

“If I’ve offended you personally in any way,” he said, “Know that it wasn’t my intention. I only tried to fulfill the task you set forth for me to the best of my ability.”

I closed my eyes in response, floating out the doorway and back into the cavern.

Olfred Warend

I watched the talk between the Scythe and Toren in a mute haze, my breath finally evening out as the silver-haired demon drifted away from the room.

My mind felt like tar as I tried to make sense of all that had happened in just the past few minutes. The appearance of that phantom, purple eye. The overwhelming presence it exuded as the restrictions of my artifact finally exacted their toll.

I’d expected to die. I’d resigned myself to it from the moment Aya appeared before me. But there was something terrifying about the artifact finally activating, the tension that had been building for decades finally releasing in one moment of horrifying certainty.

But then that strange illusion had appeared; of a woman with hair that glowed like the deepest fire. Eyes that looked like they’d been taken from the center of an active volcano. And when she roared in defiance, Lord Aldir’s presence had retreated. I’d never felt killing intent like that before. I was certain, deep in my soul, that had the artifact not been activating, I would have died from a heart attack regardless. But somehow, something had protected me from it.

And I’d sensed when Toren broke that tether.

I rubbed at my throat, watching where the demon had left. “She is a monster,” I muttered with a wince. The bruises around my throat were slow to heal, my mana sapped by the witch’s spell. “A Vritra indeed.”

I’d barely had time to process it all before I’d found a hand around my throat, a sneering face looking down at me as it slowly choked the life from me anyway. I’d seen a disgusting sort of pleasure in the Scythe’s eyes as she slowly killed me.

Toren sighed, staring off at where the woman had left. “I don’t think she is a monster,” he said in a muttered response. “But considering I wasn’t the one getting choked out, I can see that I’m probably biased.”

I snorted in disdain. Biased indeed. For all of Lord Daen’s virtues, it seemed he did have one fault: getting mooney eyes for a creature like that Vritra. “She enjoyed it. Enjoyed choking the life from my body,” I snapped irritably. “I know that look in her eye, Toren. Saw it far too much in the Greysunders when they made their twisted decisions. Saw it in Sebastian’s eyes, too. She’s a monster, even if she wears a skin that looks pretty to you. Don’t be a green boy and lose your reason just because you saw a woman’s face, Daen.”

Toren glanced at me, his eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. “If I judged everyone only for the demons they tried to keep caged, I would be alone,” he said quietly. “We all slip sometimes. And she… slipped.”

“Quite the slip-up, for her fingers to so conveniently wrap around my neck,” I snapped back. “You humans and your strange tastes in women. She’ll kill one of us, Daen, and savor it all the while. Like the earth forsaken Greysunders.”

The young fire mage’s expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t respond to my advice. “What are you going to do now?” he asked instead.

Strange, how such a simple question could divert my thoughts so much. I opened my mouth to reply, but I was surprised to find no words coming out.

What shall I do now, indeed?

I thumped my head against the wall, trying to think. Years of having my life held by a leash–first the Greysunders, and then Lord Aldir–had weighed on my shoulders like a funeral shroud. And suddenly, I was free.

I was free, wasn’t I? But… what did I do with that freedom?

“I don’t know,” I said a bit emptily, staring into the darkness. “I never thought about it. I expected to die with my artifact holder, but that won’t happen now.”

Rahdeas had promised me that I’d one day be bound to him. And I had been content with that: when my father died, I would too. I didn’t have any other reason to go on, did I?

Toren snorted, brushing off his pants and stretching his back. “Maybe take up an instrument,” he said casually. “It does wonders for your soul.”

A simple silence stretched between the two of us as I took the time to simply think. Without the weight of the tether around my chest, what could be possible?

My thoughts turned back to the man who had made this all possible. I’d accepted his offer on a whim, expecting nothing in particular. And even if he was telling the truth about his abilities, I’d expected death.

I had so many questions. About the phantom that had roared of her son, denying Lord Aldir’s eye my death. About how Toren could touch the tether. I wanted to ask him what to do next. I’d never been free of any sort of tether. How could I even decide for myself what to do next?

“You’re being shunted off to the Beast Glades,” I finally said, feeling limp. “Will I be able to contact you there?”

This strange, Alacryan boy was a third my age at the oldest, yet I found myself wishing for his advice.

Toren slumped to the floor himself, avoiding the puddle of blood he’d vomited up. “Probably. I can try and get us a pair of communication artifacts. It’s actually a bit fortuitous that this has happened. I needed to go to the Beast Glades anyway for my plans. I was going to make some sort of excuse, but now I don’t have to.”

Despite the positive nature of his words, Toren’s shoulders slumped dejectedly, probably remembering the stern words of the Vritra as she essentially banished him.

He’s a young lad, I reminded myself. Probably not much older than Lance Arthur. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s gotten his heart in a twist over that monster. She portrays a nice exterior for his kind.

It was still stupid of him, though.

But as Toren finally left the room, I languished for a while more, questioning what I would do with this freedom of mine. For some reason, this freedom felt like its own sort of chain.