Toren Daen

I left Seris’ chambers, feeling the adrenaline along my veins slowly simmer away as I finally stepped outside the door. The events of the past few minutes raced across my thoughts, leaving a weave of uncertainty and fear in my mind.

Fear. The thing that drove us all.

I exhaled a shuddering breath, closing my eyes and thumping the back of my head against the door. I slowly slid to the floor, my thoughts flowing like tar. I struggled to maintain a grasp on each as they passed, the thumping of my heart making it hard to discern anything. From terror or passion, I did not know.

I held my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut so hard I saw stars behind my eyelids. I gave myself a few minutes to just… acknowledge, and center myself afterward.

Eventually, the Unseen World washed over my vision. I saw Lady Dawn standing not far away, looking down at me with an angry expression.

“She hurt you, my bond,” she snapped, looking at my hands. “It was not her right to do so. You should extricate yourself from this while you still can.”

I forced my heartbeat to slow. That final sensation… where I’d been forced to sense everything Seris was feeling, all at once, made my joints lock up with guilt.

I’d always viewed my empathic abilities as a gift. It was a thing that allowed me to better understand the people around me and grow to know them better. In this strangely foreign world, it gave me the pull I needed to truly form connections.

But what if the very act of understanding another hurts them? I wondered. What if, by even trying to know somebody, you tear open their wounds?

I hurt Seris more, I responded to my bond. She was… cornered. And she lashed out in the only way she could.

And it had been effective. I felt as if I’d been forced against my will to tear away someone’s clothes by that very person, where neither party involved wanted that outcome. And of course, Seris didn’t want me to know her deepest fears. But she wanted to hurt me in that final moment more than she wanted to protect herself.

Aurora opened her mouth to say something; to protest, maybe, but then she paid closer attention to my emotions afterward. We sat in silence for a while.

“Her mental attack wasn’t just about your ability to sense her emotions, was it?” she asked, the words more statement than a question. “She strikes you because you grow closer to her; because you are learning more than she wishes you to know.”

It took a long time for me to reply. Aurora had left me to my meeting alone, as she usually did whenever I interacted with Seris. She’d let our bond darken slightly, allowing me to feel only my thoughts and emotions. But I had no doubt the passion I’d felt had radiated over our link. And my uncertainty. And then the guilt.

I’m going to stop, I said honestly. I can’t do this if it hurts her, Aurora. I didn’t really… understand, before. But she made her statement clear.

“Many have told you that the woman was dangerous,” my bond said again, sounding just a bit judgemental. “Myself included, my son. Yet only now you listen?”

I’m a different kind of masochist from Arthur, I replied with a mental sigh. I’ve always courted danger, Aurora. But I didn’t understand how I was hurting her. Not really. Not until she threw it back at my face like knives.

I slowly pulled myself to my feet, looking at my hands where Seris had marked me. I could heal it over, wash away the wounds. But…

I withdrew a roll of bandages from my dimension ring, beginning to wrap the claw marks in fresh linens. My natural healing factor outside of my heartfire abilities was already well above the norm: with a body partially of the djinn and phoenix and assimilated in the silver core, I healed faster than a normal white core mage. I could already feel the flesh beneath reknitting slowly, sealing the deep gashes over.

In a day or so, it would be gone. But without the effects of my heartfire healing, there would be scars.

I couldn’t let myself forget that feeling. Of hurting someone.

—

The next week and a half or so sped by quickly. After my last meeting with Seris, we had not spoken since. She had her duties as Scythe that kept her constantly occupied beneath this desert in Darv, always demanding her attention.

But so too did I. My days were filled with practicing my abilities with lifeforce, honing Circe’s array–or the technique I’d been developing based on it–and walking among the dwarves.

The task I had been assigned was to be an envoy from Alacrya to Darv; to facilitate a better life for both in the eventual end of the war. I’d spent my days talking with as many as I could, trying to learn about their culture and traditions to better understand these stubborn people.

Thus, I now found myself reading through an old dwarven book. The handwriting was thick and stocky in its strokes and indentations, much like the dwarves themselves. The entire volume was surprisingly large, but I supposed that made sense. Dwarven hands were larger than their human counterparts.

The title of the book was called Old Hymns and Various Shanties, by one Elder Arglaxe. I’d managed to borrow this particular tome from Gruhnd a day ago, and it provided me with a solid compendium of dwarven music to sift through.

From what I could gather, most of the music here used drums and a strange stringed instrument that looked somewhat like an acoustic guitar crossed with a lute, or simply sung to the tune of hammer blows as the dwarves mined.

I was sitting on a bench in the square of the dwarven encampment. Their new cavern was smaller than the previous one, meaning the earthshapers among the Darvish rebellion’s number worked to expand their cavern bit by bit.

All around me, the hustle and bustle of working dwarves echoed like a strange chorus. Over time, the controlled chaos around me, led by Elder Shintstone, became like background music that tapped into a steady rhythm at the back of my mind.

One of the things I already had an intuitive understanding of was music. The logical extension of that was to investigate the music produced by the dwarves.

“I didn’t expect to find you reading a book,” a voice grunted from the side. “Though you seem like the type if I truly think.”

I turned, mildly surprised to see Olfred Warend. The dwarven Lance had often taken to scouting missions, ostensibly making sure the paths that we Alacryans used to travel around Darv were properly free of Dicathians before use. I thought he was–understandably–trying to avoid Scythe Seris as best as possible.

That meant I hadn’t actually gotten a chance to talk with the man since I’d severed his Lance artifact’s hold over him. He looked serious as ever, his dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail. Though his beard had begun to grow a bit unkempt, he seemed surprisingly put-together.

“It’s not really a novel,” I said, flashing the cover. “Unless you count all the notes as letters, but I’d wager that starts getting into the semantics of what makes a novel,” I quipped.

Olfred’s brow furrowed. “You really are trying to connect to us, aren’t you?” he said, sounding slightly surprised. “Elder Shintstone still isn’t convinced your motives are entirely pure.”

I sighed, feeling my good mood evaporate. The dwarven elder had more than enough paranoia for her entire contingent of soldiers. “Well, practically every Alacryan she’s met has treated her–and every dwarf–as lesser,” I said with no small flash of irritation. I shook my head. “But how are you doing, Olfred? You didn’t seem really… there after we last spoke.”

Olfred looked around with a trace of annoyance. “Nothing’s been done to inquire about Elder Rahdeas,” he said with a grunt. “We all know he must’ve been captured, but your Scythe refuses to take any extra steps to try and get him any sort of release.” The dwarven Lance tried not to glare, but he was obviously failing.

I ground my teeth, feeling a knot of guilt well up in my stomach. Rahdeas would die in his cell from the spell embedded into him, ripped apart in a flurry of black steel. Yet Olfred still held out hope that a future with his escape was possible.

So if we wanted to save him at all, we had a real deadline. I furrowed my brow, thinking of what could be done. Albold wasn’t valuable enough as a hostage to be worth exchanging, and besides, I needed to learn what I could from him about the Trailblazer Division for my future plans. What else could I do to actually affect Rahdeas’ capture?

An uncomfortable silence stretched between us in the wake of Olfred’s lament. After all, there wasn’t much I could do. “What is Rahdeas like?” I finally asked, trying to change the topic toward something else. “I’ve heard a bit about him from the other dwarves, but you knew him better than any else.”

Olfred looked at me strangely before replying. “He is kind and strong,” he said slowly. “He took me from the streets of Burim when I was but a boy. No others even spared me a note of attention or care, even when I begged for scraps. But Rahdeas did. Even when all scorned me, he was there, asking for nothing in return.”

I looked down at my hands, Olfred’s words reminding me of someone else. Aurora’s words echoed in my ears.

I have often found that the selfless burn themselves away.

“I knew someone like that once. I haven’t met anyone else so kindhearted,” I said, thinking of Greahd. “You’re lucky to have them.”

Olfred opened his mouth to speak again, but he was interrupted by a young man rushing toward us. Lusul Hercross’ dark skin was slick with sweat as he approached, trying to maintain proper military discipline in his walk. Despite this, he was clearly stilted and nervous as he approached.

He saluted me, his almost-pink eyes darting to the book I held in my hands with clear curiosity. “Lord Daen, sir,” he said sharply, wrenching his gaze from the book to look at me.

I felt my brow furrow, hearing Lusul’s thunderous heartbeat. “What is it, Lusul?” I asked. “Report to me.”

The dwarves around us stopped what they were doing, sensing the importance of what was about to be said. Preemptively, I raised a sound barrier around Olfred, Lusul, and me.

Lusul gulped, settling his nerves. “I have been given an order directly from Scythe Seris Vritra,” he said stiltedly. “Toren Daen is to appear before her to commence planning on the next stage of the war.”

I absorbed that in the moment, feeling uncertain. I nodded slowly. “I’ll be there in a moment,” I said, then turned back to Olfred. “You’ll have to tell me more about Rahdeas another day. It seems I’ve got a date with a war council.”

Olfred frowned, but he didn’t say a word as I began to walk away from him through the warm tunnels. Lusul trailed behind me in lockstep, doing his damndest to not look like he was in over his head.

The caverns smelt constantly of smoke and oil. Men and women nodded to me in mixtures of respect and slight uncertainty as I passed. I wasn’t in an official military position, but I was known for my power and having the close ear of Seris. The dwarves I passed, at least, didn’t treat me with the initial outright hostility I’d experienced before.

“So, Lusul,” I found myself asking as I nodded to Gruhnd as he carted a crate of armor past, “What do you think of the dwarves so far?”

“Sir?” he said uncertainly in response.

I sighed. This was the problem with military hierarchy and why I really didn’t fit in with it. I felt uncomfortable being treated as if I were superior. “You’ve been interacting with them for a little over a month now,” I said sternly. “What are your thoughts about them? Their drive and people? The cause they fight for?”

Lusul was quiet for a moment. “I think they are primitive,” he said after a moment. “They don’t have half the technology we do. Their kings were all horrible rulers, leading to the current strife. We don’t have that with the Vritra as our overlords. The dwarves will certainly benefit from the Sovereign’s rule,” he said, each word sounding halfways rehearsed.

“Lusul,” I said, feeling slightly disappointed, “If I were to pick a dwarven child from this continent and raise them in Alacrya without a soul knowing of their origins, would you still think the same?”

“Well… I would notice,” the young man said after a moment. “They would be short.”

“And are short people lesser?” I prodded.

“No,” he said automatically. “It is our basilisk blood that makes us strong. Makes us rise above all the other lessers. Height has nothing to do with it.”

We were nearing where Seris’ quarters were in the caverns. The presence of mages became the norm as men and women darted about, running errands and generally keeping this little hideout running smoothly.

“And if we took an Alacryan child and dumped them in the middle of Sapin,” I said, “Would this child not be as ‘primitive’ as all the others?”

Lusul opened his mouth to reply, likely to say no, but then his mouth slowly closed. He blinked, seeming to belatedly recognize the point of my words.

“Scythe Nico spent his childhood on this continent,” I said into the silence. “And truth be told, he was barely worth a mention in Dicathen’s recent history.” At least he won’t be until he slaughters thousands at Etistin Bay, I thought cynically. “But the line between Alacryan and Dicathian isn’t as slim as you think.”

I stepped toward Seris’ rooms, leaving Lusul with a contemplative frown on his dark face.

Hopefully, I had some impact on him, I thought as I stepped toward the door.

A guard stood on either side, each outfitted in the red and gray of Alacrya. “Lord Daen,” the one on the right said, bowing deeply. “You are expected.”

I raised a brow. Very formal.

“Thank you,” I said as they opened the door. I stepped inside, inspecting the room.

It hadn’t changed since I’d last been here. There was a larger table that was stationed near the center of the room that bore a detailed map of Dicathen stretched across it. Small board pieces that I suspected indicated troop locations were scattered all throughout the continent.

And standing near the head of the table was a single person, clothed in her stereotypical black ensemble.

I immediately felt compelled to meet Seris’ dark eyes. An ever-so-slight smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she saw me, leaving me to blink in uncertain surprise. I remembered what I’d felt a week ago. The guilt returned, making my teeth clench.

“Toren,” she said, her tone even as ever. “Your timing is impeccable as always. You are the first to arrive.”

I forced myself to walk to the end of the table, feeling my stomach do an interesting interpretation of a somersault as I stared at the woman across from me. It took me a moment to realize she’d called me by my first name. She hadn’t done that since she released the mask of Renea Shorn.

I shoved my empathic sense for intent into a little bottle within my mind, trying to shut it off as I stared at the woman. It was like trying not to feel. Or trying not to smell. Or trying not to hear. It made the world feel suddenly dimmer as I exerted the not-insignificant effort to quell my intent sense.

“I’ve been late enough times to know I should always arrive on time,” I said with mild amusement, masking my uncertainty. I hoped my discomfort wasn’t clear in my voice.

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“You are, in fact, very early,” Seris replied. “But that is understandable. I sent out the call for you to arrive earlier than any of the others.”

I opened my mouth, catching her implications. She wanted to talk to me personally about something, then? About the war?

Hopefully about the war. I hoped it was about the war. It had to be about the war.

“I do wonder what we’ll be doing today that demands my attention. And what this ‘next stage of war’ is, exactly,” I said, testing the proverbial waters.

As far as I was aware, Scythe Seris hadn’t made any overt moves during this time in The Beginning After the End. Did that mean whatever was happening was a result of my influence?

Seris tilted her head. “You will know in due time, of course. But first, come here,” she commanded primly, gesturing to her left side. “I will not have you apart from me during these proceedings. It is important that your station be understood by those in attendance.”

I hesitated for a time. Seris had a tendency to push and prod at me in a playful, teasing way. I’d leaned into that for a time, but after my resolutions earlier, I didn’t feel comfortable taking that step and risking it again.

The Scythe clearly noticed my hesitation. Her expression shifted into one of subtle remorse, and I forcefully restrained my empathic sense even further as she looked away in what I assumed to be shame.

“Stand here,” she said, more quietly as she again gestured to her left. “Please.”

It was at that moment that my bond with Aurora–which had been at its usual vibrancy as she scrutinized the conversation–dimmed again.

Fuck! I thought, mentally trying to get a hold of her. But nothing I tried gave me an answer.

I was alone. But I could do this. Belatedly realizing I’d been standing in place for a few seconds, I forced out an exhale. “Okay,” I said awkwardly, striding robotically toward Seris’ side.

I desperately squashed my guilt as I stared ahead, an awkward silence stretching over us. I had the distinct impression that Seris really didn’t have an idea of what to say either.

But I couldn’t just sit in silence and stew endlessly. I needed to move. To do something. Especially because Lady Dawn had ditched me again.

I reached my hand out, tracing the map in front of me. My finger followed one of the rivers that threaded along the Grand Mountains, stretching from Blackbend City all the way to the Pass of Burim at the southern end of the continent. The act served to calm me somewhat. I was able to better focus when the focus wasn’t her.

The river is called the Sehz as well, I thought, staring at the map. Just like the mighty river in Alacrya.

I knew why. Aurora had once told me that Alacrya and Dicathen, millennia ago, had been part of a single continent. Ages before her time, the warring clashes of asuran clans had rent the world apart, splitting Dicathen and Alacrya from each other by force of mana and might.

How massive must that continent have been? I wondered. Alacrya is already larger than Asia itself, and Dicathen is only slightly smaller. And the distance they are separated by sea is even greater.

A supercontinent greater than any landmass I had ever seen: and the majority of it had sunk beneath the waves.

When asura went to war with each other, it was the very world itself that lost.

Seris’s arm gingerly reached out, a sole finger brushing over the top of my hand. I looked back at her, wondering what I’d see on her face.

Her lips were pursed in an expression of severity, her forehead pinched and her eyes hard. I shifted as I realized she was drawing the soft pad of her index along the scars that had formed atop my hand.

“You bear scars,” she said slowly, “Yet you shouldn’t. Not with your abilities to heal.”

I kept my eyes focused on where Seris’ warm finger brushed against the top of my hand, the ridged scar tissue strangely sensitive under her touch. “If I’d opted to simply wash it away, there wouldn’t be a scar. But I thought I should remember.”

I was silent for a moment, resisting the urge to clench my fingers into a fist. “I’m sorry, Seris,” I forced out, looking away from her. “I didn’t understand what I was doing. Not truly. So I will… stay in my lane.”

“Stay in your lane?” Seris asked, sounding curious. I couldn’t see her, but I imagined she was tilting her head. “Another strange turn of phrase from you, Toren.”

Right. Another saying from Earth, I realized. “I’ll keep to myself,” I amended. “I didn’t recognize what my intent really meant. Not until…”

I trailed off, feeling the distinct urge to simply leave. I could probably reach the door in maybe… One-fiftieth of a second, if I pushed it just a little?

“You’re thinking of running,” Seris said inquisitively. Not a question, but a statement of fact.

God damnit. “No, I am not. I wouldn’t dare disrespect you in such a way, Scythe Seris,” I said, my face a mask of stone.

Her hand flinched, recoiling slightly from where she’d been tracing my scars. Against my will, I turned slightly, looking down at the Scythe. She was inspecting the map instead of me.

“It is a strange thing, Toren,” she said quietly. “I called our previous meeting to ensure you would call me as such. Scythe. But I find that I dislike it. Deeply.”

That door is not one-fiftieth of a second away, I reasserted, gauging the distance. I could probably make it there in one one-hundredth of a second. Far less than that if I were willing to use Soulplume.

Seris sighed. “Will you stop thinking of running?” she said with clear agitation, her face dipping into a scowl. “I simply wish for a civil conversation.”

“I’m not,” I lied again. “I just don’t–”

“Your entire stance says it all, Toren,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ve faced enough cornered fools to know what they look like.”

I narrowed my eyes at the implication. “And you’re cornering me. Again,” I accused, feeling more than a little irritated. It was bad enough constantly being underground, away from the open sky. “What do you want me to say?”

Seris shifted slightly, and I felt sweat beading on my temples as I reasserted my control over my intent sense. It was getting harder to block out that sense the longer it went on.

“I wish to clarify,” she finally said into the tense silence. “I took actions that were inefficient at the time, and I have come to see that there were better paths available that I should have taken.”

I slammed my eyes shut. “Is the word ‘sorry’ not in your vocabulary?” I asked, feeling my annoyance shift slightly. A headache was building in the back of my skull that made my very eyelids throb.

“No, it isn’t,” Seris bit back, and I could sense her subtly glaring at me from the side. “It is enough for you to say it.”

“That’s not how apologies work,” I groaned, pinching my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Instead of my earlier anxiety and desire to run, annoyance and resignation reared their heads instead. My shoulders slumped as I tried to work this all out, but it was getting harder to think.

I grunted slightly, leaning forward over the table and closing my eyes. Fuck, that headache was getting worse fast.

“Can you sense something?” Seris asked suddenly, her demeanor shifting immediately. “What is it that you hear, Toren? An asura?”

She’s thinking of Central Cathedral, I thought through the growing haze. I did react similarly then, didn’t I?

“Just have been… suppressing my senses,” I said in a clipped tone. “Was harder than I thought. I’ll manage.”

I hadn’t realized it until nearly this moment how intrinsic my sense for intent was. It truly was another sense, and the effort to turn it off was like telling my eyes not to see, or my body not to feel the rough wood beneath my fingers. I’d never done this in such fullness before.

“If it is hurting you this much, then I cannot believe it is a viable path forward for us,” Seris said. “I can propose a… solution.”

I forced myself to straighten, taking a deep breath. It was just pain. I dealt with pain all the time. I was fine.

Fuck, headaches were the worst kind of pain.

I looked down at the Scythe, squinting through the rippling agony in my head. “And what kind of solution would that be?”

Seris opened her mouth, her pink lips parting, then closed it again. She turned back to the map. “You can put anything to song with that intent-based music of yours, yes?”

“If I recall the emotion deeply enough,” I responded.

Seris knew this, of course. She’d been the first to champion the effects of my concerts as Renea Shorn. The first to really believe in the change I could make.

Seris nodded slowly, taking my words in with a thoughtful expression. It was somehow easier for me to think if I focused on her more directly, but I still couldn’t really piece together her implications.

The Scythe in question had seemingly found something very interesting in her dark nails, if the way she was constantly inspecting them were any indication.

“You will play a song for me when our planning and battles are done. For me alone and no other audience,” Seris ordered simply. “I will hear your experiences of me in their fullness. Give and take.”

The Scythe looked up at me with a piercing gaze past her nails, her head tilted and her small lips pursed tightly. I saw the reaching, tentative gesture for what it was. A questing hand thrust out into the unknown. Fearful of the dark unknown, but entranced by it, too.

It was true that I sensed Seris’ emotions on a deep level whenever they leaked past her cloaking artifact, but she could not sense mine. I thought that might have been the source of much of her worries. And if anything were to blossom, there needed to be…. Reciprocity.

“Are you… certain?” I asked, feeling far from the emotion myself. The piercing pain in my skull had finally evened out, and I thought I might be able to manage it now. “I know what you felt a week ago. If that is–”

“I have given this more thought than your petty mind could fathom,” Seris said with sigh. “There are benefits to such an arrangement, too. More than you know.”

I nodded slowly. I still felt phantom worries of what had happened barely a week past scratch their possibilities in my mind. I didn’t know if this was the solution that would work, but I would give it a try.

“And you can release that empathic sense of yours,” Seris said sharply. “I will not have you glaring and making faces at my captains like a constipated ape.”

I released a breath as I complied, leaning forward on the table again as color rushed back into my perception. “Thanks,” I groaned. I wondered if this was what a balloon felt when it popped. Dear god, was it relieving.

“You are a fool, Toren Daen,” Seris said simply, not acknowledging me at all.

“Took you that long to figure it out?” I said back, my speech slightly slurred as I blinked back double vision.

“I always knew you were a certain kind of fool,” the silver-haired mage replied honestly. She’d gone back to inspecting her nails, pretending for all the world that she wasn’t insulting me. “But it took me some time to truly comprehend the depths of your absurdity.”

I slowly straightened as I felt myself return to form, breathing in and out as I wiped the sweat from my brow. “Fair enough,” I allowed, rolling my shoulders as I did my best to make myself seem more presentable. “But birds of a feather flock together.“

I thought I was exceptionally funny for that one. I even punctuated it with a smirk.

Seris, evidently, did not. “There is a difference between a fool and an idiot,” she sighed, clicking her nails along the table as my retort settled in. “If you wish to be an idiot, then continue your current course.”

I rolled my eyes. She didn’t deny my words, either.

A simple silence stretched over us as I let my thoughts wander. I still wasn’t… sure about this. Seris’ proposed ‘solution’ might set her mind at ease, but I worried about hurting her again in a way that I didn’t anticipate.

But you only lived twice.

The silence was interrupted as plated footsteps echoed out. Belatedly, I realized Cylrit had entered the war room. His face was dreadfully expressionless as he focused on his master.

I exhaled a steadying breath as I forced myself to turn toward the Retainer. I felt a sobering wave as his presence reminded me precisely of what we were supposed to be here for.

“Scythe Seris,” he said, his bow even stiffer than normal. “As commanded, I have arrived.”

Seris crossed her hands over her stomach, a familiar mask melting into place. That of the impassive military commander. “That is good, Cylrit,” she said surely. “We only have to wait for the captains of our troops, and we will be ready to begin.”

Cylrit’s booted feet walked robotically toward our location. Where I took Seris’ left, Cylrit stood at attention at her right, just a bare ways behind her. The muscles in his neck visibly flexed as he tried to keep his attention forward, but I sensed a roiling, burning feeling radiating through his intent.

Where before I’d felt a kind of mellow warmth, that was quickly replaced by burgeoning uncertainty as Cylrit’s swirling emotions radiated through his mana. The seconds ticked by painfully.

And finally, my bond with Aurora reignited as she turned her attention back to me. I felt her amusement over our bond like a little burning fire.

You could’ve said something, I grumbled to her. I’d felt like a child dropped in the deep end of the pool, kicking and thrashing to frantically swim as their parent clapped on the sidelines.

“I didn’t need to be there,” Lady Dawn replied seriously. “It wasn’t my conversation to have. But…” I felt her momentary surprise. “You are continuing in your course?”

I felt the approaching mana signatures of Seris’ captains as they approached, each one significantly powerful. Maybe, I replied. I don’t know. It’s complicated.

My bond kept her reservations to herself for a few moments as she processed my emotions. She seemed just about as uncertain as I was, but she shelved them for the moment as the time for politics arrived.

Finally, Seris’ subordinates filed in. A few of them I recognized from sparse interaction, though most were unfamiliar. They all bowed deeply, addressing Seris with respect upon entrance. They crowded around the table, around six in total.

The Scythe of Sehz-Clar’s eyes swept over the gathered captains. “I have called this meeting today to discuss the next steps we will take in this war,” she said. “In light of recent events, I have decided to make a true push to capture Vildorial, the capital of Darv.”

The captains received the information stoically, but I had to suppress a mote of shock at Seris’ words. This never happened in the original canon, I thought. What does this mean?

One of the captains cleared his throat–a bespectacled man with arms the size of tree trunks and skin the color of ebony. “Permission to speak, my Scythe?” he requested quietly.

Seris spoke through my swirling thoughts. “Permission granted, Captain Dromorth.”

Captain Dromorth stepped forward, seeming slightly nervous. “Pardon me, Scythe Seris. I know your knowledge and wisdom far exceed my own in matters of war, so I must admit my own short-sightedness. I do not see as far ahead as you, and cannot understand why you opt for a push now.”

The man looked at Seris, gauging her reaction. She clicked her nails together, a single brow raised. “Continue,” she commanded silently. “I do not punish valid questions.”

Dromorth swallowed, feeling reinvigorated by his allowance. “As you know, I am in command of many of our infantry forces, including our attack teams of strikers, casters, and shields. It gives me a good idea of the number of troops at our disposal. So I must ask: from my limited perspective, it appears that we do not have the men to siege Vildorial. It is too large; too fortified. Further, even if we were to capture it, we don’t have the men to hold it.”

There was a slight silence that stretched from Dromorth’s words. The other captains shifted uneasily as Seris’s onyx eyes glinted. “Do you all agree with Captain Dromorth, here?” she said smoothly. “That my proposed idea for an assault on Vildorial is untenable?”

There was a nervous air that scratched through the ambient mana, the intent of each mage detectable only to me. Until finally, one man stepped forward.

He was thinner than Captain Dromorth and bore a long, stringy beard the color of clay. His eyes darted to me at Seris’ side disdainfully, before focusing back on the Scythe. “I believe in your vision, Scythe Seris,” he said simperingly. “I do not see a point in questioning your strategic genius in this matter. Only fools would dare–”

“Captain Dromorth is correct,” Seris interrupted plainly, cutting through the captain’s words like an arrow to the heart. A ripple of shock went through the nervous captains, and I watched the opportunistic one with a stringy beard go pale. “With the number of troops at our disposal, holding the capital city of Darv against its original owners would be impossible. And the dwarves undoubtedly know their tunnels and home territory far better than we do. Dromorth asked the right questions: what do I see that you do not?”

Aurora quietly dissected the interaction inside my mind, the familiar action helping to center my uncertainty at this development. “The Scythe knew her original proposition was flawed,” she said. “And thus allowed those present to voice their dissent, before reaffirming it. The Scythe is able to highlight who is simply a yes-man willing to hang on her every word, and who will truly challenge poor tactical decisions.”

Dromorth’s beating heartfire relaxed somewhat, a direct inverse to the captain who had tried to vainly kiss Seris’ metaphorical boots.

What a balancing act she maintains, I thought, my brow pinching slightly. She needs to maintain the respect and fear of her station as Scythe, while simultaneously allowing reasonable discourse and accepting critiques from those around her.

“But there has been a change,” Seris said. “A few weeks ago, something happened that will change the course of this war and what we can do.”

I blinked, feeling a strange sense of foreboding rise at the Scythe’s words.

“Lord Toren of Named Blood Daen, commonly known as Spellsong, freed the dwarven Lance Olfred of the chains that bound him as a Lance,” Seris said, her eyes flicking to me. The attention of the room settled onto me, a roiling mix of respect, fear, curiosity, and disdain coming from the various captains around. “And for those who do not comprehend the gravity of this, let me explain it to you.”

Seris laid a hand over the map of Dicathen on the table, her demure hand covering a sizable section of Darv. “So far, the dwarven rebellion within Darv has been relatively small and contained, operating in the shadows and striking through the tunnels when least expected. With the capture of Commander Uto and the failure of Elder Rahdeas on the council, the rebellion became a more widespread phenomenon. But still, far from enough to truly topple the powers-that-be in Darv.”

Seris’ finger traced the outline of the dwarven nation on the board, a slight smile accentuating her graceful face of polished alabaster. “When we first arrived on this continent, instead of the liberators we truly are, the Dicathians perceived us as invaders and conquerors. Though we merely seek to free them from their asuran oppression, they’ve been brainwashed and blindsided to the truth.”

I found it grimly ironic that the captains nodded along in agreement to those words. No doubt Seris, too, found the Alacryan perspective amusing. The Vritra were no better than the Indraths.

“But now,” Seris said, tapping her finger against the map, “We’ve proven our true motives. If the common dwarf were to know the truth of Rahdeas’ capture–that he was bound and tortured in a cell, while it was Alacryans who saved and freed their Lance, what do you think would change?”

I felt my eyes widen as I connected the dots. The captains no doubt realized the same, shifting with nervous anticipation.

Seris retrieved her hands from the table crossing them over her stomach. “We do not need to hold the capital city of Darv with our paltry numbers,” Seris said simply. “We merely need to assist a dwarven uprising in taking it for themselves.”