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Toren Daen

My thoughts were awhirl as I floated through Burim, this new development settling like a ship at the bottom of a sea. Aurora’s relic—in Puppet Form, of course—floated around me in circles. Aurora was blessedly silent, allowing me to parse this change.

I made a beeline for a specific building on the edges of the Divot, one that was surprisingly small and nondescript. The simple home carved from a looming stalactite appeared paltry and pathetic compared to the rest of the grand entrances and glittering opulence of the Divot around it.

I tapped down outside, acknowledging the two heartfires I felt within. I needed to talk to one of them, but I needed a moment to gather myself first.

In the original canon of The Beginning After the End, additional Scythes were only introduced near the end of the main conflict–namely, Nico and Cadell.

Alone, they had been enough to steamroll the entire resistance Dicathen could field. I momentarily found myself fearing that was what was going to happen now.

Viessa Vritra was powerful. She was one of the deadliest of the Scythes, and the two Retainers accompanying her—one of them familiar—made me uneasy.

Is Agrona already planning to finish this war? I thought nervously, tapping my foot. So soon? Did I alter the timeline that much already?

“Peace, Toren,” Aurora’s soothing voice said as she settled on my shoulder. “You do not know enough to make conclusions. Perhaps the High Sovereign seeks to level this continent already. Perhaps he wishes to open another front. Likely, it is something neither of us can fathom. But there is one certainty in this world: to ponder this too deeply without the full array of information will only serve to harm you rather than help.”

I exhaled, finally settling my nerves. My bond was right. I’d realized long ago that trying to keep track of every change I made and keep the future exactly as I wanted would only lead to madness. I took solace in the fact that, even if Agrona opted to end the war right now, it wouldn’t be so simple to capture Tessia Eralith any longer.

And above even that, I trusted Seris. I trusted her plans and her designs for the future. Whatever came, we could face it together.

Thank you, Aurora, I thought as I stepped forward, the sound of my shoes on the cobblestones echoing out in little clicks. The warmth of my bond was a constant reassurance. That no matter what happened, I would have her by my side. I’ll need to try and figure this out later.

My bond sent a wave of affirmation as I stepped toward the simple hovel. The scent of rare earth spices and minerals brushed against my nose like a smothering blanket before I adjusted. I waved it away as I knocked crisply on the door.

“Olfred,” I said aloud, “we need to talk. There’s something urgent going on right now, and you’ll need to act.”

No response. Nothing to indicate I’d been heard, or that there was even anyone home.

Except I could feel both heartfires within–each distinct.

“Olfred,” I said more sharply. “I know you don’t want to, but–”

“Come in, Spellsong,” an unfamiliar voice echoed out, catching me by surprise. “We were waiting for you.”

I felt my brow furrow at the voice. It was scratchy from disuse, as if whoever had spoken hadn’t drunk a drop of water for days. And though I’d never heard the voice, I knew immediately who it was. After all, there was only one other person inside the hovel.

I hesitated for only a moment, wondering what this could be about, before I finally pushed the door open. As I stepped inside, I gave the room a cursory inspection.

The inside of the hovel was just as quaint and unassuming as the outside. A desk sat against one hollowed-out wall, a stack of unread papers littering the conjured earth. I noticed a few cooking pots in a far-off kitchen, and the lingering smoke of a cookfire told me they’d been used recently.

It made me think of the old depictions of hobbit holes from my previous life. Homely and earthy, with bright tones that reminded me of autumn leaves and a quiet night reading by a fire.

But my attention was drawn to another chamber: one that held both the waiting heartfires. I slowed in my stride as I walked, feeling a rise of guilt as I finally laid eyes on the one who had called me. He lay prone in a bed, leaning wearily against a layer of rough cushions that propped him up in a sitting position.

The first thing I thought when I met Rahdeas’ gaze was that the dwarf looked old.

I’d met many people across my lives, both on Earth and Dicathen. No small few of those had been the aged and elderly. I’d visited retirement homes in my previous life; watched people as they slowly lost themselves to decay and failing memory. It was a wrenching, horrible thing to witness.

Rahdeas didn’t look like the withered, still-living corpses I’d known in nursing homes. He didn’t have a full head of gray hair, or innumerable wrinkles that marked his face. Though his body was stick-thin from malnourishment, I could still see the ghost of the man he had once been. His healthy bulk and solid build echoed from the past.

No, it was his eyes that were old. They didn’t seem to be staring at me, not really. They stared past me into the empty space beyond, not quite acknowledging my existence. The dwarf had the gaze of a man not just lost in thought, but trapped in his own mind.

The second thing I felt upon seeing Rahdeas was guilt. I’d attempted to heal the damage the Triunion torturers had done to this man’s mind, but it was there that I learned the mind was no simple thing to heal.

If I wanted to even heal something in the mind, I needed to truly understand the damage. But what set apart mental trauma from normal experience? If I somehow figured out how to wash away trauma, was I just removing a fundamental part of someone? What separated healing an injury from carving out a limb?

Such distinctions were far simpler when it came to the body.

But with the mind, I didn’t know. And part of me feared trying to learn. Such limitations halted me from truly helping Rahdeas.

It took a moment to push away that seeping guilt. There were always patients I might fail to save, injuries I might fail to heal. And just like with the future of Dicathen, focusing on it unendingly would only drive me mad.

“Hello, Elder Rahdeas,” I said respectfully, not expecting a response. The dwarf hadn’t exactly been lucid since his return, as far as I was aware. “I’m just here to leave a message with Olfred,” I said, my eyes flicking to the Lance, who was sitting at the bedside and giving the old Elder a strange look. “I’ll leave you to your–”

“Things aren’t as you expected, are they, Spellsong?” Rahdeas interrupted, his eyes briefly focusing on me.

I slowly closed my mouth, my brow furrowing. I shared a glance with Olfred, who looked more worried than anything. “You’ll need to define things, Elder Rahdeas,” I eventually said, uncertain of how lucid the man was.

In original canon, Rahdeas had been surprisingly coherent when speaking with Arthur, but I’d seen none of that in the short time I’d interacted with the dwarf the first time. I was still wondering if I’d been duped somehow and the dwarf was maintaining some sort of facade when he spoke next.

“Darv,” Rahdeas croaked simply. “It isn’t what you expected as an Alacryan, is it?”

I blinked in genuine surprise, drawn up short by this response. I flashed back to my first interactions with Jotilda Shintstone and the dwarven rebellion. I’d allowed my rigid, biased view of The Beginning After the End to cloud my judgment and conceptions, but that had changed as I’d witnessed the inequalities and suffering the dwarves faced.

I’d come to the conclusion that Darv’s independence movement had a truly solid reason for their anger, but I still couldn’t accept Rahdeas’ inclusion of Alacryan forces in his plans. Perhaps the elves and humans of Dicathen had treated the dwarves poorly. But that paled in comparison to what Agrona was planning.

“It wasn’t,” I acknowledged, wondering what the point of this conversation was. I still felt on edge from the arrival of Viessa’s fleet.

Rahdeas’ gaze was empty as he stared through me. “What did you expect, Spellsong?”

My brow creased as I thought about the question. What had I expected from Darv? From the dwarves?

I shook my head sharply. “I’ll have to give you an answer to that question later, Elder,” I said in a quick but respectful tone. “I have news to deliver to Olfred.”

“The war has truly begun, then?” Rahdeas said, shifting in his sheets. Olfred was characteristically silent as he watched the interaction between the two of us. “Reinforcements have come. Your High Sovereign is done playing games with us, isn’t he?”

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This time, I focused my full attention on the once-councilman. “How did you know that?” I asked sharply. Rahdeas had shown knowledge of Agrona’s plans involving Nico and Arthur–knowledge that had no direct source. Could he have an avenue of information that I didn’t know about?

Rahdeas simply chuckled, his loose linens shaking slightly. “Surprised?” he prodded. “I’ve seen war from the sidelines before, long ago. I know what to expect.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Regardless, I’ve been talking with my son these past few days. Talking about this war. Talking about what the dwarves will do as Agrona moves.” His eyes, for the first time, focused on me. “What you will do.”

I felt goosebumps rise along my arms from the intensity of Rahdeas’ stare. His gaze drifted to the clockwork bird sitting solemnly on my shoulder, and he seemed to see far too much of the little puppet.

I carefully tore my gaze away from Rahdeas’. “Olfred, I’ll need you to take command of what dwarves you can. Keep an eye on them and keep them in line,” I said, not answering the Elder’s question. If all he would do was taunt me with riddles, I wasn’t going to play that game.

Olfred’s face darkened. “So you need someone to take the leash?” he asked, but it wasn’t entirely spiteful. “Jotilda can do it. She’s enough for your needs.”

I restrained my fists from clenching. I’d expected this answer. Olfred didn’t care for much else besides Rahdeas’ orders, and even then, he’d been questioning those too.

“Do as Spellsong asks, Olfred,” Rahdeas eventually said into the silence. “Make sure our people are safe.”

Olfred turned conflicted eyes toward his father. I could sense it there–his confusion, uncertainty, and fear. I remembered the last talk I’d had with the former Lance, where he’d expressed the identity crisis he’d been having.

Olfred lacked direction, but as he gradually stood at the behest of his father, I got the sense this was enough–at least for today. The dwarf trundled past me and out into the cavern beyond, and I could sense as he lifted up into the sky.

I nodded respectfully to Elder Rahdeas once more, preparing to leave as well. “I hope you recover well, Elder,” I said honestly. I bore the man no ill will, even if I thought his choices were… deeply mistaken.

“So quick to leave a man to his sickbed, Spellsong?” Rahdeas mused with a distant expression. “I am surprised. You didn’t strike me as one to leave so abruptly. Before you go, though, I want you to tell me something.”

I turned slightly, acknowledging the elder dwarf. I didn’t know what to think of him. Not really. “And what would that be?”

“You’re different from most Alacryans, aren’t you?” Rahdeas prodded. “I’ve seen your people treat me in many ways. Most are variations of disgust or condescension. But not you. What is it that you hide behind your eyes, Toren?”

I worked my jaw, thinking of my age-old conversations with Darrin Ordin. Of the promises I’d made to Seris that I’d be a bridge between Darv and Alacrya. And the toil and struggle I saw everyday across this city. I paused in the doorway, my shoulders slumping slightly.

“I respect what you were trying to do to help your people,” I eventually said. And I truly did. Rahdeas’ efforts to uplift Darv reminded me of Greahd and her efforts to help the people of East Fiachra. But unlike Greahd, this would only end in heartbreak–heartbreak for an entire race. “But despite that, I know where this leads. And I hope you can find a way to live with yourself after what you’ve brought upon those you care for.”

I left the dwarven leader behind with his empty stare and broken mind, quietly asking myself the same question. If I failed in my goals, could I afford to live with myself?

—

Seris was quiet as she lounged on her couch, a contemplative look on her face. Cylrit stood stalwartly to her side, while I busied myself with heating the silver-haired mage’s teapot.

I’d sensed Scythe Viessa’s departure to her steamship fleet, and I’d caught a glimpse of them retreating toward the Isle of the Earthmother. I knew Seris had been preparing a place for new troops there, but I doubted that it was truly ready yet.

The atmosphere within the Scythe’s chambers wasn’t quite somber, but it was tense. Both Cylrit and I knew we needed to give the woman we both cared for time to think. Time to develop her thoughts.

The silver-haired Scythe was beautiful in many ways, but what shone the brightest was her mind. When she put her mind to it, there was no task she could not overcome. No puzzle she could not solve.

“The Beast Glades will no longer be under Cylrit’s control,” Seris finally said, watching as I lowered the leaves of her tea into the steaming pot with my telekinetic rune, allowing them to steep. “Scythe Viessa Vritra has direct orders from the High Sovereign to take charge of that warfront, and accompanying her are Retainers Mawar and Bilal, the latter of whom is the Truacian replacement for the late Jagrette.”

My hands immediately clenched as the implications flashed to the forefront of my mind. On my shoulder, Aurora’s puppet fluttered. “Wolfrum,” I said. A statement.

Seris only tilted her head. “Indeed,” she said sourly. “Viessa gave no indication that she knew of this particular problem we face, but I would not be surprised if she did.”

“Which means we need to find him,” I said, allowing myself to sit heavily in the tall-backed chair across from Seris. “Or confirm that he’s dead already.”

I ran a hand down my face in irritation. I’d failed to catch the traitorous bastard because of my weakness in the wake of my battle with Arthur. And now Seris’ plans were in jeopardy because of that.

“Is Scythe Nico still planning to be brought to the warfront?” I asked next, trying to get my thoughts in order. Considering Seris hadn’t mentioned anything about it yet, I didn’t think Agrona was ready to end this war just yet.

Seris looked at me musingly through silver lashes, and Cylrit also gave me a critical look. It took me a moment to realize why they were giving me such strange looks.

Seris knew I planned to kill the newest Scythe, and she’d taken that in characteristic stride. Cylrit, however, still had no context whatsoever for why I would be asking this question.

“Scythe Nico is still undergoing training in Taegrin Caelum, primarily underneath Scythe Melzri’s care,” Seris eventually said. “That has not changed. But we will need to discuss the specifics of your plans, Toren, so that you do not endanger the people and things you wish to protect.”

I nodded slowly as I watched Seris’ tea leaves simmer. She knew as well as I that the best-case scenario was denying Agrona the Legacy in the first place. Even if it risked the wrath of the High Sovereign, she would support my planned assassination of the second reincarnate.

“Serve me my tea, would you Toren?” Seris said demurely, lounging like a queen on her throne. Her onyx eyes focused on mine with surprising intensity.

I felt something hot travel through my veins as I matched the moon-blessed sorceress’ gaze, but I forcefully suppressed the sensation. Now wasn’t the time for such emotions. Not when I needed to be thinking clearly and critically.

I carefully engaged my telekinetic regalia, removing the strainer before floating the steaming-hot cup over to the Scythe of Sehz-Clar. She took it in slender fingers, her eyes inspecting the bottomless depths of the beverage.

“Now,” Seris said, the atmosphere drifting away as she adopted a more serious manner, “there is something else we must discuss.”

Seris turned her gaze away from her beverage, instead focusing on the puppet perched on my shoulder.

“Lady Dawn,” she said respectfully, her words clearly measured as my bond’s construct stared back at her, “I wish for your input on these changes. You have unique insight into the mind of the one that rules us all,” Seris said, her intent sharp despite her restrained aura.

Cylrit raised a pristine black brow as he looked quizzically at the puppeteered construct, clearly confused by his master’s deference to what looked like a wind-up toy. So when Aurora spoke, I savored the surprise that spread across his face.

“This war is entering its next phase,” Aurora said solemnly, fluttering her puppet’s wings as its eyes flashed. A sound like knives being sharpened echoed out. “I have played political games among the asura of Epheotus for countless years, Scythe of Sehz-Clar, but you must know that even among the gods, Agrona Vritra is not one so easily predicted.”

While Cylrit gaped, Seris simply frowned. “Indeed, I know as much. If the master of Alacrya were easy to predict, then he would not have proven such a bane to Kezess Indrath for so long. But I am not asking for definitive proof, Lady Dawn. I simply respect your insight.”

I could feel Aurora’s emotions over our bond. A mix of amusement, caution, and respect kindled like a sparked flame inside her molten breast. The phoenix shade didn’t trust Seris wholeheartedly as I did, but neither did she view my lover as some sort of basilisk spawn doomed to only ruin and decay everything in her path.

Cylrit seemed to belatedly realize what exactly Aurora was, because his hand shot out to the side in a blur of instinctive reaction. Before he could do anything foolish, however, Seris waved a dismissive hand toward her Retainer.

He stopped in his actions cold, his blood-red eyes dilated into pinpricks as they stared at the graceful puppet on my shoulder.

“He is focusing on you,” Aurora finally said. “I have no doubt you were sent to this continent for a reason, Seris Vritra. As some sort of experiment; to see how you will act. You might think your leash loosened, but in truth, it only tightens.” She flapped her wings slightly. “You cannot hold back for much longer. I have seen how you do so, keeping casualties and damage to a minimum in every battle thus far. This is war, Scythe, and you must be a warrior. Blood will flow regardless, but if you are cautious, then it shall only flow in the direction you desire.”

The room was silent for a long, long moment as Seris absorbed my bond’s words. She sipped at her tea, her eyes misty as they fell into thought.

“You are right, Lady Dawn. We will have to be more forceful and ambitious in action henceforth,” she said eventually. “Before, I was free to act at my own pace. But with the introduction of another Scythe—a rival power in this war—I must ensure that my apparent contributions match that of my counterpart, lest I risk being pressured in ways I cannot account for.”

Cylrit gathered himself, trusting in Seris more than he was confused by this development. He slowly moved to stand near Seris before bowing slightly towards his Scythe. As he did so, I didn’t feel the usual rush of annoyance and irritation I used to whenever I spoke with him. “Your wish is my command, my master,” he said sharply. “Do with me as you will.”

Seris turned fond eyes toward her Retainer, and I found myself thinking of what Cylrit had told me not long ago. That he was a bastard son of Scythe Kelagon; a living reminder of what it meant to be a Scythe.

“I will organize our troops shortly,” Seris said. “It’s high time we made a push for the capital of Darv. It will take some time to coordinate with our dwarven allies, but I will have you in the vanguard, Cylrit.”

Cylrit dipped his head. “As you wish,” he said, before stepping backward.

Then the Scythe turned toward me consideringly. She slowly crossed her legs, her dark dress shifting as she narrowed her eyes. “I will not break the treaty I reached with Virion Eralith, which bars you from intruding upon claimed Dicathian land,” she said slowly, “which leaves you with one option. I have some idea of where the Bastards Victorious might have fled within the Beast Glades, and it will be your task to track them down once and for all and retrieve Wolfrum Redwater.”

My eyes widened slightly as I considered this, recognizing the genius of it immediately. The Beast Glades weren’t officially claimed by any kingdom in Dicathen, which made it effectively neutral ground–even if there were constant skirmishes and battles within.

A smile split my face as I recognized that Seris had no doubt planned for this when she’d originally come to this agreement. “Remind me never to bet against you, Seris,” I said. With my skills and sensory abilities, I was one of the best choices to try and track someone, even if the trail was cold for several weeks. “I think you’d always win.”

Seris’ eyes narrowed into little crescent moons as she smiled slightly. “Always keep that in mind, Toren,” she said slyly, sipping at her tea. When her mouth came away, there was a slight bit of liquid around her pale lips, but a brush of her tongue washed it away. Her smirk was palpable as I noticed I’d been staring a little too long. “I always win.”