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Toren Daen

This puzzle should have been easy. In fact, I was certain that under literally any other circumstances, it would be easy. I already had a clear path to victory in my head, and if I could just–

The godforsaken block I’d been nudging lurched a centimeter too far to the side, throwing the entire structure out of balance. And like a single card removed from a mansion of them, all my progress collapsed inward. The puzzle reset itself, scrambling my work on the way out.

“God dammit,” I cursed aloud, drawing a few wary looks from passersby. I ignored them as I focused back on the puzzle, walking along as I engaged my telekinetic regalia to the utmost.

Seris had once again commissioned a puzzle for me to complete. This one was like a confounding cross between a Jenga tower and a Rubik’s cube–and I could only twist the blocks with my rune.

I sighed as I allowed my anger to settle, giving myself a moment before I attempted to solve it again. It was designed to progressively require more and more delicate care and finesse as I shifted the pieces about, and the act actually served to help me discover the intricacies of my new rune.

I had infinitely more fine control than ever before, the ambient mana itself supporting my telekinesis under the influence of my white core. Yet like a muscle I’d never exercised, I needed to practice each twitch and pull.

This mana-imbibed puzzle was perfect for that. Seris had ordered it artificed in record time after I’d told her of my new abilities.

After a few more unsuccessful tries–I kept getting stuck on the portions that required multiple points of steady, continuous pushing that would barely nudge a blade of grass–I finally stowed the puzzle into my dimension ring.

That had thankfully been returned to me, and Seris had assured me that she had personally kept it in the wake of my imprisonment.

Some part of me quietly wondered if the enigmatic Scythe had indeed looked through it and found my journal on The Beginning After the End, but I doubted it. If she had, though, she either hadn’t deciphered it or was a better manipulator than Agrona himself.

I let those thoughts drift away as I strolled along the hanging bridges of Burim, noting the return of tension in the aftermath of the Aurora Constellate. It felt like the last time we would have peace, and the city’s very foundations seemed to agree.

Speaking of the Constellate, I’d just left a brief meeting with Barth the puppeteer. I’d bought some aged leatherbound folktales from him and also subtly inquired about the source of the story he’d told a few nights ago during the Constellate.

Barth had revealed to me that his great-great-great-grandfather had helped a man along the road, and as was tradition back in the day in his House, only asked for a unique story in return.

Apparently, the nondescript traveler–no doubt an asura in disguise–had told Barth’s ancestor the story of the Dragon and the Mountain. Barth’s ancestor had sensed the importance of the tale, even if he hadn’t truly recognized its origins.

As I’d been trying to leave, Barth had tried to cajole more information from me about “The Ascender and the Sorceress,” namely if he could get me to tell it at another of his shows. Apparently, the tale of my encounter with Seris had spread through Burim like wildfire.

I’d declined that offer. That was the kind of story I only told once.

It’s probably going to reach Alacrya soon, too, I thought, for once wondering if I really should have been so… blatant. Seris had certainly found it charming, but was it really the wisest thing to do?

I felt my shoulders slump a bit at the thought. It’s a unique kind of exhausting, always trying to account for everything, I recognized. With how public of a figure I am, I have to be careful with anything and everything that comes out of my mouth.

In that moment, I felt my respect for Seris build up just a little more. It made more sense to me why she’d restrained and pulled her emotions inward so much. They could make us… impulsive.

I perked up as I sensed someone familiar rushing toward me. Lusul had a careful mask of duty on his face as he strode toward me at a clipped pace.

I slowed in my walk as the young man approached, giving him a respectful nod that he returned. “Lieutenant,” I said in greeting. The son of Named Blood Hercross had risen quickly through the military ranks after my initial promotion as he proved his worth, though he still reported directly to me. “News to report?”

The dark-skinned man nodded curtly. We’d been working on the basics of what intent truly was these past few days and hadn’t yet delved into the more complex workings of my music as I taught him. It would be a slow process teaching the talented musician my craft, namely because he lacked certain advantages in senses and inclination.

“A letter from Scythe Seris Vritra,” he said, proffering a letter from underneath his coat. “For your hands only.”

Immediately, my brow creased in suspicion as I took the letter from Lusul. It was stamped with Seris’ seal, certainly, but I knew that if she wanted to contact me, our communication artifacts were a far more direct method.

Unless there’s something compromised with our artifacts, I thought, feeling a bit of worry creep through my mind. Seris had alluded to bringing me into her true plans next time we properly spoke, and the Scythe spent most of her time delegating work and directing Burim from the shadows of the Divot. Today, she was tending to our troops on the Earthmother’s Isle a few miles out from Burim. If Seris wants to speak to me, then maybe…

I felt a certain sense of foreboding as I ran my fingers along the deep red stamp. It displayed the iconography of Sehz-Clar prominently, proudly declaring its source. Yet the smooth texture of paper beneath my fingertips felt coarser than it should’ve.

I broke the seal, not displaying any of my reservations outwardly. I felt Aurora’s mind drift closer to my own in a measure of silent support as I slowly pulled the paper within from the envelope.

There were barely a few sentences on the paper. Each letter was immaculately inked with a master stroke of a pen, and I could almost feel the grace that emanated from each swirling loop and curve.

But this was unmistakably not Seris’ handwriting, and it was not an order from my Scythe.

I looked up from the paper, my face settling to stone as I observed Lusul. “This wasn’t given to you by Seris,” I said. A statement, not a question.

Lusul evidently sensed the seriousness in my tone. He straightened slightly. “No, Toren. It was given to me by Captain Dromorth. I didn’t ask questions.”

I nodded slowly. Dromorth was one of Seris’ captains who held my respect. Nearly everyone who accompanied Seris to Dicathen was an accomplished military veteran or had attained their position through merit, but I knew Seris wouldn’t take such a roundabout route of contacting me.

I folded the letter back into its envelope, then neatly tucked it into the folds of my vest. The words inked within weighed on my mind like a heavy blanket, smothering out everything else. “Report back to your troops, Lusul,” I said sternly, turning away and facing the cavern exit. It was midday, and the light streamed in slightly from the Bay of Burim to cast shadows across everything. “And ensure that those stationed on the docks be ready.”

Lusul shifted slightly. “Ready for what, Toren?” he asked.

“Just make sure they’re ready,” I said, already beginning to stride away.

There were a few beats of silence as I finally began to move, running over the implications in my head and what this could mean. “Toren?” Lusul called after me.

I paused, looking back. “Yes, Lieutenant?” I said sharply.

Lusul coughed nervously. “What’s going on? Are the docks in danger?”

I blinked, sensing the iota of worry in my subordinate’s own intent. It took me a heartbeat to remember that Lusul’s lover lived and worked near Burim’s docks. If something happened there, she’d be in danger.

I sighed. “They shouldn’t be,” I said promptly as I stared back at the yawning mouth of Burim’s cavernous exit. “But with the business I need to tend to, I can’t be sure.”

I ignored Lusul’s panicked heartbeat as I marched toward the sunlight, determination and resolve settling in my veins. The letter–the challenge within–weighed heavily in my pocket.

—

Burim’s docks were unique. Unlike most seaside ports and cities that built wooden supports and extended pathways out into the water, the dwarven city had a unique obstacle to face.

Whenever the lavatides erupted from the cavern, they seeped into the bay just outside the city, solidifying into rock and spreading the land just a bit further. The ingenious dwarves of Darv had taken what had once been a logistical nightmare and worked it to their advantage.

Whenever a lavatide struck, magma mages were deployed to shape and mold the flow of certain parts of the breakout. By doing so, the guided streams of molten rock solidified and hardened into the exact shapes needed to form docks, buildings, roadways, and more–and with the unique properties found only in Burim’s magma, they hardened into truly resistant material.

These thoughts and more flitted in the background of my mind as I trudged along the furthest stretches of Burim’s pier. Beyond the normal hustle and bustle; beyond the chugging and churning of the occasional steamship.

A single figure waited for me at the very end of the stone outcroppings. If I hadn’t sensed their heartfire and restrained intent, I might have thought them carved of the very same rock beneath them. They stood still as a statue. Unmoving and unyielding, even as their cape blew in the sea breeze.

I stopped several yards away, my nerves strangely cool as I stared at the dark plate armor of the figure’s back. Cylrit, Retainer of Seris Vritra, radiated power that few in this world could ever hope to match.

Aurora wasn’t here right now. Even without my explicit request, she knew–sensed, on some level–that I needed to do this alone. She might have scoffed and rolled her eyes as she did so, but she respected me anyway.

I’d experienced many kinds of tension before. Facing enemies, fighting for my life in the Relictombs, protecting those I cared for… But the wrought energy that stretched between Cylrit and me–even with his back turned–was unlike anything I’d experienced before.

“Most Vritra-blooded mages know from whence their lineage stems,” Cylrit finally said, his words cool and even as they thrummed in the air. “At the root of all power in Alacrya are the traces of god’s blood that flow through the veins of all. Yet despite this, even once I manifested my heritage, I knew not the names of my scion nor the reason for my latent abilities.”

Cylrit finally turned to me, like a machine turns on its axis. “I grew up in the depths of hell. But it was a hell seen everywhere in Alacrya. A bloody testament to our warlike nature. And though my potential was great, I would have been swept away in the tides of the Redfeud War.”

Cylrit clenched a gauntleted fist, and I could hear the dark metal creak. “I would have been a mindless slave to the whims of those beyond me, were it not for Seris. She rescued me from the folly of my own hubris; showed me the truth of this world. Saved me from the soulfire of my existence.”

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I clasped my hands behind my back as I locked eyes with the Retainer. His pupils–each the color of curdled blood–bored into mine with singular intensity.

“And for half a century, I have stood by her side. Helped and been her support where I could. Very little has she changed, and very little has she needed to. Until you.”

“And is that why you’ve called me out here?” I asked, the letter Cylrit had penned floating out of my vest and hovering between us. With the effortless precision of my recently upgraded regalia, I was able to unfold the letter with barely a touch of my mind. “You said I needed to ‘answer for my actions.’ But you’ve yet to make any accusations, Cylrit,” I said sternly.

Cylrit exhaled slowly through his nose, his mana swelling. “I need not make any ‘accusations,’ ” he said sharply, “because you know what you have done.”

My eyes narrowed as my stance shifted slightly, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as Cylrit’s aura slowly expanded. “You can hide this behind all the pretense and pretty words you want, Cylrit,” I bit back, “but we both know what this is about. It’s about you. It’s about me. And it’s about Seris.”

Cylrit’s face hardened into stone as he held a hand out to the side. In a flourish of dark shadows, his pitch-black greatsword materialized beside him, easily taller than he was.

“Toren,” Aurora said, suddenly worried as I began to call on my mana, “I should be–”

He wants to fight me again, I thought sharply back to my bond, focused on the Retainer’s swirling intent as my aura clashed against his. So I’m going to fight him.

“You are right, Toren Daen,” Cylrit eventually said, the edges of his lip curling into a sneer. “This is simply a battle that must be fought.”

When I’d first fought Cylrit in the sparring ring, I’d been at the high-silver stage of my core. Yet now, with the benefit of my white core, I could divine the true depths of how much he had been holding back.

The man blurred forward in a flash of dark steel, the ground cratering beneath his boots as he launched toward me. His massive sword–more like a slab of iron than a real blade–cut through the air like the blade of a god as it sought my throat.

I barely managed to duck underneath the scything arc of the black blade, the wind it trailed in its wake causing the sea around us to churn and splash against nearby buildings. I withdrew Inversion from my dimension ring, the familiar horn warm in my palms as it pulsed with energy.

I retaliated with a cut toward Cylrit’s arm, mana churning along my veins. Right before impact, I released a gout of fire from Inversion’s tip.

Cylrit twisted his sword with impossible speed, something in the structure shifting imperceptibly. All at once, the fire I’d released was sucked toward his blade.

Perfect, I thought, building a layer of restrained telekinetic force over my hands. My part-asuran physique drank in the energy greedily as I funneled more and more energy into my arms, reinforcing my body and increasing my strength a hundredfold.

I saw a flash in Cylrit’s eyes as he no doubt guessed at my plan. With his sword caught absorbing my fire, he couldn’t switch fast enough to block my telekinesis.

I surged upward, and the Retainer predictably shifted his sword to try and deflect whatever attack he thought was coming. I could almost taste his intentions in his mana, my hands supernaturally guided by instinct and technique.

And instead of slamming a punch into Cylrit’s massive greatsword, I latched onto it. My hands wrapped around the black metal, and I twisted my body. The ground around me shuddered and cracked from the sheer force building up along my physique as mana flowed in perfect tandem with my martial form.

And then I twisted around, focusing my telekinetic buildup into a fine, accelerated tube. Cylrit was caught off guard for barely a fraction of an instant, but that was all that was needed. With the force of a twisting cyclone, I shoved his massive weapon into the accel path of telekinetic force, and his sword was torn from his hands with the force of a cannon. A shockwave burst around us as it became less than a blur, digging into the cliff walls with the sound of shearing rock and crumbling stone.

Simultaneously, my fist lashed out with a coating of sound mana that eagerly wrapped my knuckles. Cylrit actually managed to bring his arms into a hasty block, but the impact of my strike on his black steel gauntlets rang like thunder as my sound spell detonated in a wave of vibrations.

Cylrit shot backward off the pier, his cape billowing red as his body blurred. A wake trailed behind him from the displacement of air as the sea roiled like an angry serpent. After a few dozen yards, he managed to catch himself, hovering just above the water as he stared at me with a modicum of surprise.

I exhaled as I stood back to my full height, calling on my heartfire to wash over my broken hand and soothe my injuries. I floated off the pier as well, standing on the water as I stared resolutely at the distant Retainer.

“I’ve learned some new tricks since we last fought,” I said resolutely. “You’re going to have to do better than a disposable greatsword if you want to defeat me, Cylrit,” I snarled.

Cylrit’s gauntlets steamed as he lowered his arms, his blood-red eyes flicking to the cavern walls far behind us. The handle of his weapon jutted out there, almost inviting him to try and grab it. But we both knew I wouldn’t let him get that far.

Cylrit sneered, his sharp jaw twisting as he held his hands out to the sides. I watched, my confidence never wavering, even as two new constructs of black metal appeared beside Cylrit’s arms.

A gargantuan shield–easily tall enough to cover Cylrit from head to toe–emerged from a swirl of shadow. Brutal imagery and jagged lines were engraved deep into the metal, giving it a menacing appearance that seemed to drink in the light. In his opposing hand, a short spatha of dark iron settled there neatly.

“It has been a long time since I have called on these weapons,” Cylrit said gravely. “An age since I conjured their likeness. You have made a mistake to think me powerless without my greatsword. In another life and by another name did I wield these weapons, and you should feel honored to witness their edges once more.”

Shrouded wings slowly grew from my back as I faced this new threat, crystalline feathers laying over each other one by one. A shrouded blade emerged from Inversion, burning with red plasma as it hummed in the air.

I took a step back on the water, a single ripple spreading from the sole of my boot. My wings flared as I focused intently on the Retainer, grim resolve settling in my bones. I didn’t respond with a quip or a flippant remark.

A surge of telekinesis erupted from beneath my feet as I blurred forward, swinging Inversion as I closed the distance in time with my beating heart. The air whipped at my hair as I aimed a precise cut at Cylrit’s shield, my shrouded wings buzzing with sound magic as the feathers closed in from both sides.

I knew the tower shield in his hand shifted elements when I felt the slightest tug on my wings and sword, but I pushed past the force. It was noticeably weaker than it had ever been before, because no longer was my telekinesis truly bearing an elemental affinity beyond the barest influence of gravity.

My wings scraped across the angry black shield with a clang of metal as Cylrit was forced backward in the air. A thrust of Inversion threatened to weave around the massive wall in my path as my wings forced it sideways, but I was forced to deflect the Retainer’s spatha with my plasma-laden saber in a shower of sparks. Cylrit snarled before he shoved his shield at me in a calculated bash.

I maneuvered my wings in front of my face, bracing against the shock. I still felt my stomach lurch as they cracked. The blow sent me arcing up into the sky, and I had to roll slightly to avoid the surge of Cylrit’s spatha as he threw it.

I detached a few of the feathers from my wings, imbuing them with a mix of fire and sound, before they surged down toward Cylrit like rabid hornets. Each trailed streams of light and heat as they sought to maneuver past the man’s iron defense.

Cylrit’s spatha cut at me of its own accord, somehow controlled by the Retainer in a manner entirely unlike my telekinesis. I dipped and weaved as the black sword sought my blood, deflecting it with Inversion as I built up another surge of psychokinetic force around me.

It seemed there was no better time to test my new abilities than in the heat of combat. I quickly learned that my telekinesis operated more akin to how I flew, with the ambient mana itself assisting the movement and control of objects around me.

That was why Cylrit’s strange gravity constructs had a harder time influencing my telekinesis now. While he could target the innate spell’s mana signature and alter his weapons to attract that type, it wasn’t so simple anymore.

It was also why I was able to utilize accel paths–the technique that facilitated the Stake of the Morning–with far more ease. My telekinetic shoves always bore a pushback, but now the ambient mana itself could bear the brunt of such force.

I built up a stream of force around me, redirecting Cylrit’s spatha away at the same time I twisted to block another slam of his shield. My body rocked as I made momentary eye contact with the Retainer, his speed far beyond anything I’d seen during sparring.

It was only instincts honed over many months of combat and a twinge of Cylrit’s intent that saved me. A dark metal spike erupted from the dark-haired Retainer’s shield, streaking toward my eye. I snapped my head to the side, but it still drew a long, deep cut along my cheek.

That disorientation was enough. Cylrit’s gauntleted fist struck me hard in the ribs, my telekinetic shroud cracking as the air was driven from my lungs. An instinctual swipe of Inversion deflected the spatha as it tried to skewer me from behind, but then I felt a flash of pain as Cylrit’s leg impacted my jaw like a hammer blow.

Why did he always aim for my goddamn jaw?

My vision flashed as I surged backward, my world spinning as my head rocked. Yet Cylrit didn’t let me go. Like an unyielding sentinel, he harried my retreat with quick swipes of his shortsword and intimidating bashes of his shield.

“I was born in the depths of the gladiator rings of Victorious, deep in the hells of Vechor,” he snarled, his black blade barely redirected from my throat as he kept me off balance. “For twenty years I fought for cruel masters. Twenty years I bloodied my blade on untrained whelps and the greatest of masters alike. I was a brute. An animal. A monster.”

Finally, I released some of my restraint as I was forced backward through the sky, my emotions dipping toward anger as another deep cut was drawn across my body. I snapped my hands out, unleashing an oscillating surge of sound mana that made the ocean tremble and the air scream. Cylrit merely grunted as it shoved him back, but I wasn’t done.

I called on my regalia, willing the world around me to shift. Water rose from the ocean as it was caught in the untethered pulls of my mana, swirling like a roaring vortex as I concentrated. Let’s see you deal with this, I thought, before sending the miniature tsunami of water at the Retainer.

I was no water mage, and I knew for a fact that a conjurer with a water affinity would be able to do what I’d just done with far more efficiency and power. But that wasn’t why I was currently trying to drown Cylrit in a torrent of water. He couldn’t deflect or absorb it with ease like my fire, sound, or plasma attacks. That left him off balance.

Even as I forced the bubble of water to condense around Cylrit from all sides, bashing and pushing and soaking him from every direction, I focused on my regalia, creating a thin stream of energy in front of me. An accel path of unbelievably concentrated physical force shimmered in front of me as I lined up my shot.

I snarled with the strain as I pulled a single feather from my shrouded wings. I couldn’t simply conjure telekinetic constructs everywhere I wanted, but this? This I could do.

I stretched the feather out, imbuing it with a simple coating of plasma. The light flickered and danced within the crystalline lattices of mana as my breathing came up short.

I could sense Cylrit within pushing against my sphere of water, unable to easily redirect or escape it due to its lack of true affinity. But we both knew it wouldn’t hold him for long.

I prepared to line up the plasma-laden feather along the accel path in front of me, my ears keenly noting Cylrit’s heartfire. With this level of strength, I knew it wasn’t anywhere near the level of a Stake of the Morning, but I would relish the damage the Retainer would suffer when I dropped this in.

Then something crashed into the back of my head–hard. I shot forward into the water with the speed of a cannonball as my protective shroud cracked, losing control of my spells as I cried out in sudden pain. The water was cold and disorienting as I was swallowed by the depths, my ears ringing. The sudden change in pressure chilled my blood, my shrouded wings simmering away as I was cast into darkness.

I could feel Aurora’s distant worry and dismay as I sank, my vision shaking as I trailed liquid red. My heartfire worked to heal me, a twisting serpent of blood snaking after my skull as I fell deeper into the abyss.

He managed to hit me, I thought, blinking weakly in the water as I struggled to maintain a coherent thought through the dizzying pain. I drifted lower and lower in the water, rays of sunlight smiling down in refracted shimmers through the surface above. How?

Everything quickly came back into focus as I gritted my teeth, my heartfire washing away what was certainly a serious brain injury. My feet finally touched the bottom of the bay, and though I couldn’t afford to open my mouth underwater, I felt that I might scream in frustration.

I narrowed my eyes as I bent my knees, building up layers of telekinetic force beneath my feet. The currents whipped and churned around me as my mana quaked. I resummoned my shrouded wings, their placement on my back feeling beyond natural.

And then I surged upward, pulling myself through the water as I flew. In a fraction of a second, I was above water again, glaring daggers at Cylrit where he floated nonchalantly.

It was immediately clear what exactly had struck me in the back of the skull. As focused as I was on my accel feather, I hadn’t noticed Cylrit’s greatsword streaking back toward him. A splattering of crimson blood was apparent on the flat of the massive blade from where it had struck me in the head.

“I was forged in death, Spellsong, but my blade was quenched in duty. Seris Vritra saved me from the depths of the gladiatorial pits, but she would not have done so if I had not proved I was willing to fight.” The Retainer grasped his massive black sword, leveling it at me like the hammer of a judge. “You do not give this fight your all, just as you refused before,” Cylrit intoned sharply, his three conjured weapons hovering around him. “I suffer this disrespect only once, Toren Daen. The next strike will free you of your head. There is no freedom for hesitation; no room for doubt. You dedicate your heart, or you do not.”

My eyes darted to the splatter of red across Cylrit’s greatsword as I worked my jaw. It was clear to me that if he had cared to angle his weapon just a bit more so that I’d face the edge instead of the flat, there was a real possibility of his threat bearing weight.

I allowed my elevated heartbeat to drift away as I exhaled, relaxing my clenched fists. I could simply delve into my Acquire Phase. I felt certain that would be enough to close the gap once more–no, that would exceed the gap. But as I stared into Cylrit’s coldly demanding eyes, I recognized the disrespect that would be.

We fought for greater reasons than to truly test our might.

To dedicate my heart, fully and utterly, I thought, noting as Aurora drifted closer to my mind. My Phoenix Will shifted in the depths of my core as it slowly unfurled its metaphysical wings.

“I have dedicated myself,” I said evenly, my voice becoming more melodic as my hair shifted colors to that of a burning red. Feathered orange runes coursed up my arms as winged glyphs unfurled beneath my eyes. “To this people. To this world. To her vision,” I said with surety as mana flowed anew across my channels. “And if this is what it takes to prove it to you, Cylrit of Victorious, then so be it.”