Seris Vritra
My mana flowed through the tempus warp, following the dips and paths arrayed before it as the portal slowly activated. Gradually, a mirror-like pane of purple fizzed into existence nearby, humming audibly with a familiar sound.
I felt an irritating knot of anticipation in my chest as I watched the portal, knowing who was on the other side. I’d resolved myself to draw firm lines between us and finally reassert my status as Scythe. I had more things I needed to discuss with the man, of course, but at the forefront of my mind were the ways I allowed the man to speak and act flippantly around me.
After a week of contemplation and introspection regarding my failure to control myself, I’d come to the conclusion that the liberties I allowed Lord Daen–irrational as they were–couldn’t be allowed to continue as they had. They were a detriment, making my thoughts and processes flighty and unpredictable.
I had long ago noticed that my tongue and intent became looser around the young man. I had not fully appreciated the implications of this until Olfred’s release from his artifact.
Toren stepped through the portal a bare moment later, breaking me from my thoughts. I opened my mouth, ready to command the man, then was forced to raise a brow as I saw his… companion.
“Lord Daen,” I said seriously, looking at the captive elf he hauled behind him. The elf looked back with stormy gray eyes blown wide, trembling as they saw me, then breaking down into something more primal as they saw my horns. “Explain to me why you have brought back a captive.”
Toren blinked as he focused on me, his mouth turning into a small ‘o’ as he seemed to see me for the first time. The young man worked his jaw, visibly contemplating what to say. But the demanding way I raised my brow finally compelled him to speak.
“I spared this one from a squadron of soldiers who were taking turns torturing him,” Toren said with a sigh. “The Bastards Victorious, if you know them. I managed to piece together that this elf has a position that would make him far more valuable as a hostage than as a tortured prisoner, though, so I opted to bring him here.”
Said prisoner was trembling at Toren’s feet, keeping their attention toward the ground.
“I see,” I said slowly. “And you did not take this man away from his tormentors simply because of the treatment itself?”
Toren stiffened slightly, his mouth turning into a frown. Knowing the young man, that reaction confirmed my suspicions exactly.
“This is Albold Chaffer,” Toren said, gesturing to the kneeling elf. “He is the scion of an important military house with close connections to the Eraliths, with ties to Commander Virion Eralith himself.”
I strolled over, inspecting the captive closely. His hands were broken, and I saw several bruising marks around his throat. The elf slammed his eyes shut as I inspected him.
“Make what arrangements you need for the hostage,” I finally said into the grim silence. “He shall be your responsibility. Am I clear?”
Toren nodded sharply, a current of relief flashing in his eyes. He masked it just as quickly. He began to pull the elf back to his feet, brushing the young Chaffer’s tunic free of dust.
But that only addressed one issue.
“And when you are done,” I continued, “You are to meet me in my personal chambers immediately. We have matters to discuss, and you will ensure you will be free for however long I need you,” I said, the words feeling uncomfortable and alien on my tongue.
Toren’s eyes widened slightly, and his movement became a bit mechanical as he turned to look up at me, his expression skeptical. Belatedly, I realized the potential implications of my words.
My face fell into a frown as I fought down my irritation. Were I performing at my optimal abilities, such a simple slipup would have never happened. I had teased Toren intentionally at first. It served as a simple but effective route to keeping him off-balance, but now foolish words fell from my tongue without conscious thought.
“Understood,” Toren said, his voice sounding somewhere between wary and amused as he started to move. “I’ll put Albold under Lusul’s protection and guard, then heal his wounds the best I can. It shouldn’t take long.”
I watched Toren go, feeling a strange sort of dread pooling in my stomach.
—
I sipped at my tea as I lounged in a high-back chair. I’d settled into my small suite in the new cavern with ease after my divisions had been forced to evacuate the previous one.
My eyes trailed the ridges of stone far across from my little tea table. I felt a sobering understanding wash through me as I stared at those empty walls.
Temporary, I thought. Nothing here is designed to last. It’s all made with the intent of eventual abandonment.
I found myself thinking of my offices in Bloodstone Elixirs. I’d gone out of my way to find art pieces depicting scenes of battle and carnage, arraying them all across the room.
Those acted as a constant reminder. No matter what I was doing, the looming actions of Agrona and his clan announced themselves with every flicker of the eye.
But these barren walls? So deep in the earth, without the kiss of the wind to remind me there were things beyond my little hovel, it was easy to forget the bigger picture at play.
Perhaps that is why Toren has found his way so close to you, I thought, setting my teacup down with a click. You allow yourself to get caught up in the moment, Seris.
And without Cylrit’s presence, it was harder to remember who I was. What I was.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I heard a knock at my door. I set down my teacup, steeling myself for what was to come. “You are free to enter,” I said aloud.
I watched Toren as he entered the room, closing the door gingerly behind him. Despite myself, I found my eyes tracking over his body. After returning from the Beast Glades, his clothes had been in a general state of disarray, dirty, and tattered. But now, he was clearly wearing fresh attire. His hair had been washed and dried recently, and he’d tied it back into a tail rather than the half-up, half-down style he’d been wearing more lately.
He turned back to me, standing uncertainly near the door. His eyes–each like simmering coals–tracked to the tea in my hands. “Your tea is going cold,” he said, sounding almost remorseful.
I found myself chuckling lightly, amused by his comment. I took a liberal sip of the cooling drink, then set it down on the tea table in front of me. The liquid inside wasn’t my favored blend of Redwater leaves, unfortunately, but I’d enjoyed it nonetheless.
“It is no matter,” I said, gesturing my hand toward the seat across from me. “Tell me, Lord Daen. How fares your hostage?”
I would have to personally investigate Toren’s claims of this elf’s connection to Commander Virion at a later date. If he was, I potentially had a direct route to influence the Council if I so wished. The options that Toren’s captive opened up were as vast as the dangers he brought, too.
Toren moved over to the chair opposite me, sitting down in it with a contented sigh. “Lusul was surprised to be saddled with a hostage to watch over,” he said, adjusting himself in the chair to be more comfortable. “But he didn’t object. I ordered him strictly to treat Albold with respect. The elf is going to be under twenty-four seven watch henceforth, but you don’t exactly have humane prisons here,” he sighed. “Olfred owes me a favor. I’m thinking of asking him to make a comfortable but secure bunker of earth as a more permanent solution. I’ll need to see how he’s faring, too.”
I crossed my hands over my lap, feeling contemplative as I sat in this room with Toren. I’d chosen him to be the connective tissue between Darv and Alacrya, and already that decision had borne unexpected fruit in the case of Olfred Warend. By saving Lance Olfred, Toren had inadvertently positioned we Alacryans as liberators to the dwarven rebellion.
Not just conquerors. Liberators.
Without Toren’s influence, perhaps I would have simply waited out this war, doing the bare minimum to see it won. Agrona no doubt had his plans in place beyond my own understanding to see Dicathen fall on his terms. But with these shifting tides of war, I recognized I could do something else.
If Darv fell on my terms instead of Agrona’s, then I would have far more influence over the continent in the aftermath of the war. I’d be able to push the politics and figures of Dicathen with far more precision. The dwarven rebellion already had a far stronger leg to stand on in Lance Olfred, and it was all because of Toren.
“On the topic of Lance Balrog,” I said, drawing the young mage’s intent gaze to me, “Your actions a week ago in freeing Olfred Warend from his chains have served to be… invaluable to me and my goals.” I raised a single hand to my chin, holding it as I stared intently at the strawberry-blonde striker with narrowed eyes. “It is common protocol to offer rewards for such brilliant service, and this time is no different. So tell me, Toren Daen,” I slowly crossed my legs, watching as his gaze was drawn to the shifting of my long, dark dress. His eyes stayed there as if caught by a spell. “What do you wish for a reward?”
Toren blinked in surprise, clearly not having expected my words. His eyes snapped away from my legs, focusing on my dark pupils once more. Then they narrowed in confusion and annoyance. ”Pardon me, Seris,” he said slowly, “But I don’t understand why I was punished for the same action, and now am being asked to choose a reward a week later.”
I exhaled through my nose. “It is also military protocol, Lord Daen,” I deflected. “While your actions were ultimately beneficial, they were without authorization or clearance. Were I to allow you off without even a slap on the wrist, it would disrupt the strict military discipline we all must maintain in war,” I said. And my words were even partly true.
Toren, however, didn’t seem to fully believe me. His lips pursed, and his face took on an expression I couldn’t decipher. Sadness? Irritation?
“For a reward,” he said slowly, standing up and turning away. He seemed to deeply consider my words, pacing slightly as he thought of what to ask for. “Hmmm…”
I inadvertently tapped my finger against my leather armrest in a steady rhythm as I allowed the young man to think. That was something everyone–no matter their race, station, or power–should be allowed to do whenever they needed. To think things through.
Eventually, though, Toren’s walk slowed. A strange sort of look crossed his face as he flourished his hand. In an instant, an item appeared from his dimension ring.
The puzzle I had selected for him–a rugged steel dodecahedron, stamped with a branded glyph of flame–settled there comfortably. Toren turned to me, hefting the fist-sized puzzle. “I think I need more time to think of a real reward,” he said, holding the puzzle in his hands, “But in the meantime, I’d like to ask something of you.”
I found my eyes inadvertently drawn to the puzzle in his hands, a strange sort of longing simmering in my stomach. “And what might that be, Lord Daen?” I asked primly, not voicing an ounce of my inner emotions.
Toren rolled the puzzle through his fingers. “Well, I’m going to be finished with this one soon,” he said with a smirk, tossing it up and catching it with his telekinetic spellform. “I was wondering if you could point me toward whoever made it in the first place. I’ve really, really enjoyed this one and the way it has challenged me.”
I frowned slightly, leaning forward as the puzzle drifted back down toward Toren’s hand. “It looks far from solved to me,” I countered, a touch of pride entering my voice as I stared into his eyes. From what the dwarven artificer had told me, the fire glyph at the center would light up, announcing one’s victory over this mental challenge. Yet not a single stretch of the glyph was illuminated. “You will have to pull a far better ruse to convince me of your supposed ‘puzzle prowess.’”
Toren snorted in amusement, his eyes flashing as he moved back toward his seat. I stared at him in challenge as I lounged in my chair like one of Dicathen’s queens, daring him to prove his words.
“Okay, Seris,” he said with a wry smirk. “How often is the Scythe of Sehz-Clar proven wrong?”
I turned up my chin, feeling the edges of my lips threaten to curl up. “Very, very rarely,” I said. Though almost always regarding you. “Do you think yourself so mighty to change that statistic?”
“Not mighty,” Toren said, tapping a finger against his temple. “Just methodical.” He beckoned me forward with a hand as he held out the little dodecahedron over the tea table. “Watch. You’ll see what I mean.”
I leaned forward in my seat, uncrossing my legs as I tried to get a better look. I felt anticipation well up from deep within as the little steel puzzle held my fullest attention.
I felt a bare fluctuation of energy as mana flowed from Toren’s hand, seeping into the steel construction. I watched intently as parts of the glyph began to light up under the effect of Lord Daen’s mana.
“All you need is a little fire mana,” Toren said. The words caressed my ears like a summer breeze, making me relax slightly. “And then you can work it through.”
I watched, entranced, as parts of the fire glyph flickered on and off in strange patterns. Gradually, even despite the flashing, I watched as the small glyph of flame grew closer and closer to activation. Inch by inch, the engraved crevices crept toward completion.
My breath grew shorter as I began to feel that anticipatory high. The rush of adrenaline and spike of triumph that came to me whenever I completed a puzzle. It was so, so close…
And then Toren sighed. I blinked, the moment shattered like a rock thrown into a still pond. I looked up from the puzzle, feeling a strange sort of irritation in my gut. Why did he stop?
And I met Toren’s eyes. His eyebrows had nearly reached his hairline, a wry, knowing smile splitting his face. “Am I to assume the enigmatic, cold Scythe of Sehz-Clar adores puzzles? Considering how you nearly fell off your seat…”
Belatedly, I realized how much I’d moved. Where before I’d allowed my own tall chair to nearly swallow me, lounging on it as if it were a throne, now I was barely sitting on the edge. I’d somehow shifted all the way to the end, putting me not two feet from Toren.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
I furrowed my brow, my lips pursing as I glared at the young man. “You are teasing me,” I accused. “You shouldn’t be.”
Toren chuckled, and I felt a comfortable warmth settle in my stomach as he did so. My hard mask melted slightly, and I found myself smiling as I stared down at the almost completed puzzle.
“Will you not finish it?” I finally asked, feeling uncharacteristically impatient. “I do wish to see the end of this journey, Toren.”
Toren sighed, his fingers wrapping the dodecahedron slightly as he pulled it away. “I’m a bit stuck on the last part, I’ll admit,” he said sheepishly. “My method for solving this puzzle is very methodical, and it's worked well so far. But I’ve hit a bit of a snag near the finish line.”
“Ah,” I said, putting a single finger to my lips as Toren’s words registered. “You work with a more logic-based system, you say?”
Toren nodded. “Yeah. I’ll figure it out soon, Seris. Don’t worry.”
I looked at the puzzle, feeling a bit forlorn despite the atmosphere. “It is a shame that I do not have an affinity for fire mana,” I lamented. “Else I would have attempted to solve this puzzle on my own. But without those prerequisites, it is impossible for me to actually do so.”
The little puzzle I’d bought Toren was partially because I couldn’t complete such a thing myself. Though I quietly chafed at the idea that there were some challenges I’d never be able to attempt, it was a good second-best to watch someone else achieve such heights themselves.
And he is really close, I thought, feeling a bit of my good mood return. I suppose I will have to find another puzzle for him to conquer then, won’t I? One that is more difficult than this.
“You could do this puzzle,” Toren said, startling me out of my thoughts. He had a contemplative, almost scheming look on his face as he stared at me. “It’s not as impossible as you think.”
I raised another brow. “Perhaps you have proven me in error once today, Toren, but I do not think it will happen twice. It is statistically improbable that I should suddenly develop a fire affinity. Or be wrong.”
Toren waved a hand, beckoning me forward again. “Well, it’s a good thing you won’t need any of those to complete this contraption. Because while you need fire mana to activate it, it's fundamentally not a mana puzzle. It’s a logic puzzle.”
Toren held his hand out, the small, fist-sized construct of metal gleaming in the low light. “All you need is someone to imbue each of the initial twenty-four sections with fire mana, note down their individual effects, and then activate them all in the correct sequence. Really, the fire affinity is only needed for activation.”
I stared at the offered challenge, feeling a traitorous competitive urge that made my fingers twitch. Toren’s eyes quietly compelled me to join him in this little game. To give it my best try.
He really does think he’ll stump me with this, doesn’t he? I thought, feeling a predatory grin stretch across my face as I laid my hands over Toren’s, the cool steel of the dwarven puzzle contrasting with the steady warmth of Lord Daen’s palms. Foolish. So very foolish.
Toren’s wry smirk contrasted mine as I laid my hands over his. “I’m going to activate each of the modules within, announcing them as one through twenty-four,” he said succinctly. “Now, you can write down the effects you observe–”
I sniffed, interrupting Toren’s words. “My memory will be sufficient, Toren,” I countered. “Now begin. Your Scythe commands it.”
Toren rolled his eyes, but it was a playful gesture. “One,” he said. Fire mana flowed from his hands, interweaving with my fingers before streaming into the relic. I watched intently as two segments of the fire glyph lit up, and another seemed to darken further, even without any light.
Toren then did something to flush the artifact of mana, resetting it to its blank state. Throughout it all, I kept my focus like iron as I stared at the glyph, intent on memorizing each flicker and flare.
“Two,” he continued. This time, only one segment glowed, and none went dark.
This went on for a few minutes as Toren activated the entire array of modules, their effects appearing before me and emblazoning themselves in my mind. By the time we were done, that smile of mine had widened already. In my head, I was going over a dozen patterns at a time, trying to find a concrete way to push this puzzle forward.
Logic puzzle indeed, I acknowledged. It should be quite simple.
“What has you so excited?” Toren said. “You look like you’ve got some devious plans brewing in that skull of yours.”
His jovial voice soothed aches in my muscles that I didn’t even know existed. I found myself simultaneously relaxing even as I stared at the puzzle as if my gaze could weather it to dust. “Quiet,” I rebuked softly. “Now is the time for thinking, not talking. I must concentrate fully on this.”
“Alright then,” Toren said, his fingers brushing my own. ”Have at it, my dear Scythe.”
“Five,” I said to start. Toren complied, activating the fifth module. “Thirteen,” I said next.
We continued like this for a while as the minutes ticked by, his warm hands cupping mine as I methodically went through numbers. But even as I slowly began to set a rhythm for lighting up the artifact, I noticed another pattern.
Beneath my hands, Toren’s heartbeat was steady and strong. But it would change the barest bit whenever I called out: a ten here and a nineteen here. But on certain calls, the reaction was far more substantial.
As fascinating as this little craft in our hands is, I realized, It is far from the most intriguing one I have to solve.
Almost without realizing it, I began to call out modules at random, ignoring the pattern I’d been intuitively piecing together so far. I felt like a korfox catching the scent of a riftrat as I chased Toren’s heartbeat. His fingers would clench ever-so-slightly depending on the words I said. His breathing would stall for the barest moment. His eyes would dance as they observed the relic, telling me more than any pattern within ever could.
Yes, Toren knew the sequence to complete this puzzle. I didn’t need to figure out the puzzle. I just needed to figure out what he knew.
I did not know when it happened, but I eventually found myself focusing on the young mage instead of the dwarven artifact between our fingers. I absorbed his every inflection. Each shift of his pulse; each minute change of his brows. I voiced numbers in tune with Lord Daen’s masked knowledge, following a trail I didn’t understand, but simultaneously knew.
And finally, Toren raised his intent gaze from the puzzle, meeting my eyes. The smile on my face was knowing as I looked at him with quiet triumph.
His fingers squeezed my own for a heartbeat, and my hand squeezed his back. We’d somehow moved closer, our faces barely a foot away. I found my eyes tracing the contours of Toren’s lips, that heat in my body growing more and more.
“You managed that far faster than I ever did,” Toren said, sounding impressed. “But it appears we’re both stumped on this part, huh?”
Belatedly, I realized the burnished steel dodecahedron between our palms had reached the same point of conclusion Toren had shown earlier. About ninety percent of the glyph was awash with light, just barely off from completion.
But of course, it wasn’t yet done. After all, I hadn’t truly understood the logistics behind it: I’d simply deciphered Toren’s anticipation and knowledge of the puzzle, using that to push it just to that exact edge.
But he didn’t need to know that.
“I am not stumped,” I said smoothly. “I have merely proven that your earlier feats aren’t nearly as noteworthy as you liked to pretend. After all, I was able to achieve the same in a matter of minutes, wasn’t I?” I tilted up my chin so that it appeared I was staring down at the young mage. It brought us just a little closer. “You should be more humble, Lord Daen.”
Toren leaned forward slightly, his eyes flashing. “Except you don’t know anything about this puzzle, either, do you? I think you should learn some humility.”
“You are arrogant to assume what I’m thinking,” I countered, leaning forward as well as the moment pulled me closer. I tried to think of something witty to say to really put him in his place, but I decided that that wasn’t really necessary right now. I could say something later. The puzzle slipped from our hands, bouncing against the tea table before clinking to the floor. I ignored it as my eyes drifted closed.
We leaned closer; so much closer. I could almost–
Yet I was torn from my reverie as, instead of his soft lips on mine, I felt Toren’s forehead nuzzle against my own. My eyes snapped open. I felt suddenly confused, feeling a strange sense of rejection and loss as the moment simmered away.
“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his words seeming to slow. “You told me once that I tore away your masks. That I hurt you by doing this. And I can… sense that it isn’t what you want.”
And suddenly, all the passion that had been building was doused by a torrent of uncertainty. I’d called this meeting to put a stop to this irritating itch in my chest. So that I could take solace in my thoughts again, without unpredictable emotions and long-buried worries getting in the way.
So I could prevent someone from peeling me away, the same way Sovereign Orlaeth had.
Toren seemed to sense my shift in emotions, because of course he did. He couldn’t even let me plan in peace. His hands started to retreat from where they clasped mine, his body inching away.
But I would not allow him to flee. My hands clenched around his, denying him the ability to leave. Mana thrummed through my muscles as I inadvertently clung to his hands.
“This is purposeful,” I said, my voice shaking with growing fury. The smile had fallen from my face as I fully embraced the Scythe. “Do you know what you’re doing? Do you understand everything you rip from me?”
I noticed that my fingernails had carved deep divots into Toren’s hands, my claws nearly touching bone. Blood streamed from his skin in slow rivulets, dripping into my teacup right beneath us. I felt the urge to grip harder and crush his bones like the fragile twigs they were.
Toren’s hands held mine, even as I wounded him. He looked at me, those terribly soulful eyes taking all of me in. I knew he was reading my emotions, strained as they were.
I gripped his hands harder, feeling the bones creak.
“You’re human, Seris,” he said slowly. “You’re not a machine. It… wasn’t my intention to do so, but you can’t remain rigid forever. You’ll break before you bend.”
“You are basilisk in lesser flesh,” a condescending voice uttered in the recesses of my memories. Flashes of sterile, white labs. The stench of chemicals and experiments. “So very strange. So very unique.”
“I’m not human,” I hissed, feeling rising, bitter hatred as I stared at the man in front of me. “I am a Scythe, Toren Daen. Human? I never thought you viewed me as something so weak,” I snarled, my fingers scraping at bone as they carved deeper. His flesh broke and tore with a spray of blood.
The young man barely reacted to how I marked him. Even as his blood flowed in streams to the tea table beneath, he didn’t flinch, only worked his jaw. It made me even more angry. I felt those rippling scales; the unholy song of my blood as it demanded I snuff out his heartbeat.
“If being human is such a sign of weakness, then why me?” Toren finally asked, tilting his head inquisitively. The way he said it: not judgemental, not harsh, simply curious, was like a knife deep in my gut. “I don’t know everything, Seris, but I know I’m here because I’m human.”
I felt my fury grow even further at this. A snarl built in my throat, but against my will, the press of my fingers into the bones of Toren’s hands ceased.
Because we both knew the answer to that question. I’d answered it long ago, in that clinic in East Fiachra. I’d given it in the wake of the Plaguefire Incursion. We sat in silence for a long time, my hands holding Toren’s fast. His heartbeat was slow in his blood.
“Since you claim to be such an authority on what makes people human,” I bit out sourly, “What am I feeling, Toren?” I finally asked, knowing the answer but unable to voice it.
Toren looked at me, his eyes unfocusing as he no doubt honed in on that empathic sense of his. Then he finally pulled his hand from mine, and I wondered if he would finally leave me in peace. Yet instead of pulling himself away, Toren gingerly held my hand in his own, bringing it up to his lips. He kissed the back of my palm gently, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling away.
“That’s human, too,” he said slowly, his expression falling as he no doubt pieced apart what raged in my head. “It’s the most human thing, I think. Fear is what drives us all, in some form or another.”
And that was the difference, wasn’t it? Toren thought me human, not basilisk. Even as I felt the call of that asuran song, Toren still thought me human. The very thing I’d arranged this meeting to decay away.
For that? I supposed he was a tragic fool.
And finally, my breathing began to even out. My heartbeat slowed, and my thoughts focused. I had gone too far; lived too long with surprises. Even now, I found my equilibrium. The impulses of my darker side were carefully covered.
But Toren didn’t understand. How could I make him?
The answer slithered into my mind as if whispered by the wind.
“I suppose fear is what motivates all lessers,” I said slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “The fear of being hunted. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the dark. Fear of each other.”
A silence grew between us, thick and viscous like sap. “You don’t fear me,” Toren replied quietly. “That isn’t why you’re afraid.”
“So astute, Toren,” I mocked, still staring intently at the ceiling. “So what do you think I fear?”
Toren shifted uncomfortably. He made to withdraw his hand back from where he’d kissed it, but I stalled him by laying mine atop his bleeding skin like a serpent’s jaws snapping shut. I could feel his pulse begin to pick up.
Yes, that was what I was looking for.
“I can’t read your thoughts, Seris,” he said, seeming uncertain for the first time. “Only emotions.”
“Humor me, then. What do you think drives me? What lesser fear captivates my psyche? You’ve come this far already with your little insights. Why not go a little further?” I prodded, my mana flaring.
Toren shifted slightly, uncomfortable. Good. He’d remained stoic for too long, and it seemed I’d finally pieced apart what made him nervous.
“I think you fear destruction,” he finally answered. “I think you fear the collapse of all you know.”
I sighed in disappointment, affecting a mocking tone. “Please. That’s too simple, and I know you better than that. Don’t disappoint me again with lesser mundanities. One more chance.”
The seconds ticked by as the young man worked his jaw. His red blood seeped beneath my hand as I kept him pinned like a spider binds a fly. The gallows awaited Toren for what he’d learned. I could almost hear the tightening of the noose as it slowly cinched around his throat.
And I could see it there, slotting into place deep in his soul.
The young fire mage knew me well; knew me better than nearly any other. The worth of our time together was infinitely greater than the sum of its parts. And with this taste of my inner soul, I had no doubt he understood.
“Give me my answer, Toren,” I demanded again, this time with grim finality. My aura flowed, perfectly under control as the waves of my power washed over him. They didn’t slam into the mage like hurricane winds. No, they coasted over his skin like poisonous mist atop a morning lake, each brush threatening death. Like snakes slowly rising up his arms as their fangs glistened with venom. He gritted his teeth, his body trembling. “I think you can piece it together, hmmm?”
I forced my eyes to bore holes into the young mage as I savored his discomfort like fine wine. Such a unique vintage of guilt he was feeling, too. I even made an effort to press my emotions into the air. Every flavor of them I knew would drive knives deeper into his petty little mind.
And finally, he opened his mouth, uttering the dread truth. “You’re terrified of yourself.”
My aura drifted away like fog before sunlight. Toren gnashed his teeth, looking away from me as he visibly tensed with guilt. I imagined it was far from a pleasant thing, reading those emotions of mine. I arranged them intentionally, after all. It didn’t really matter that he said the words, either: just that he understood everything around them.
He claimed he felt guilt for tearing away my masks, so what better way to punish him than to force him to rip them away? Force him to watch something he would rather avert his eyes to? Especially with his hatred of the High Sovereign and mind arts, I imagined such things were especially potent.
So ironic, I thought, watching Toren as he stared at the ground. To break an empath, one just needs to understand them, too. He’ll never dare peel apart my protections now. I suppose Orlaeth’s methods do have merit in the rarest circumstances.
My thoughts caught on that statement. The coiling darkness of my blood laughed as I recognized the depths of my actions. And despite my wishes, I felt the guilt and shame at what I had just done settle like bile atop the pond of my thoughts.
I opened my mouth, closed it, then turned away. My earlier sense of triumph drifted away as I methodically suppressed the song of my Vritra lineage.
“Leave me, Toren,” I ordered, inspecting a painting on the wall.
He got up without a word, walking like a ghost to the door. When he left, I inspected my bloodstained hands, feeling that very named fear rise again in all its power.