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Toren Daen

I watched from the side of the cookfire as Captain Dromorth directed his troops through the Undercroft. The dim and dark cesspits of Burim always seemed to try and swallow any light that streamed down, but the lighting artifacts strapped to the belts of our soldiers and the task they were performing served to bring some much-needed warmth to the decrepit mishmash of rickety homes lashed to stalagmites.

Personally, I waited at the edge with a cloak covering my hair, doing what little I could here and there to assist in the distribution of food. Not far away, Bartholomew Morg spoke in animated tones as he peddled a story to some of the nervous dwarven children.

As I watched the slowly gathering operation, I found myself drifting back to winter nights in East Fiachra. Where Greahd would give out everything she could to bring about a sense of community to the downtrodden of the city. I thought of Naereni and Wade. Sevren and Caera.

I spotted a young dwarven girl as she stared up with awe at Barth’s conjured play, clapping her hands. The sparkle in her brown eyes was so much like Benny’s.

“It’s… sad,” Lusul said beside me, almost invisible against the shadows because of his dark skin. “I didn’t know this place was down here. I couldn’t even imagine…”

I exhaled sadly through my nose. “Places like this exist on every continent,” I said. “You can’t escape poverty, no matter your system.” I tapped my fingers along my leg, noting the wary looks of nonmage dwarves as they stared at our cookfires and offerings of food. They sensed some sort of trap. Some sort of danger here, even though there was none.

At least not any they can understand, I thought solemnly as I leaned against the back of a stalagmite. None they’ll ever be able to understand.

Seris was playing a game with these people. After she’d recognized the changes in Agrona’s modus operandi through Viessa—where the Truacian Scythe enabled massacres on an untold scale across the continent of Sapin—she’d confided in me that she was going to push a certain image: not dissimilar to mine, where I attempted to act as a connective tissue for dwarf and Alacryan.

Seris would present the differences in her and Viessa’s power blocks. If Viessa were the monstrous demon, Seris was the noble one. One could run from Viessa into Seris’ clutches, thinking themselves safe. A pretty lie, I supposed, but a lie nonetheless.

And so here we were, distributing spare rations of food to the poor of Burim. A sound political move.

Lusul was silent for a time as he shivered slightly in the darkness. “On every continent, Toren?” he said weakly.

I snorted slightly. “It’s worse in Alacrya,” I said. “Better in Sehz-Clar, of course, but still much worse.”

I tapped my fingers against my arm as I thought of the destitution that gripped the unadorned of my home city. “There’s a reason people need to be mages to even purchase things like food and basic necessities in most Dominions. Why most of the time, unadorned are exiled and banished from the truly populous city centers if they fail a single tax.”

Laws such as that inadvertently helped strengthen the blood of mages in Alacrya, as evidenced by nearly two millennia of experimentation. By pushing those with a low aptitude for magic away from the urban centers–where most of the industry and means of survival were centralized–Agrona created a culture where those with magic potential naturally congregated and perpetuated their bloodlines, gradually strengthening and enhancing their magical potential through manipulation of civilization itself.

“Then these people will be even worse off when… when we conquer them?” Lusul said, his pink eyes haunted.

I suppressed a bitter laugh. Lusul had grown so much over the past few months—from believing all Dicathians were inherently lesser, to fearing for our victory. I remembered when he’d told me that beating down “Dicathian savages” would serve his spine well.

But it was a tragic thing, in a way. Seeing the truth, and never being able to lie to yourself again.

So many of the youths of Alacrya were kept away from places like these, only allowed to see the high and mighty powers. Some part of me had been afraid that Lusul would justify it inside, or that he’d feel only scorn. But all the training we’d been doing had finally convinced me otherwise.

“Seris means well for these people,” I said after a considering moment. “When we have our victory, it will be easier to implement Sehz-Clarian practices, which are more tolerant and respectful of nonmages. They won’t be mistreated like in most places in Alacrya.”

And with further influence as we slowly chip away at the foundation, I thought with grim resolve, we’ll see them soar. But things will get worse before they get better.

Aurora’s puppeteered relic settled on my shoulder as a grim silence stretched around us. She was silent as well. Her thoughts were almost constantly on the Hearth, a growing well of anticipation churning there whenever I looked her way.

I’d be leaving tonight. Setting off into the Beast Glades for however long it took to find Mordain and ensure a promise of Asclepius intervention.

I slowly stood, unraveling myself like a bow being unstrung. I gave Lusul’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Come on, Lusul,” I said to my friend. “You’ve been having trouble sensing intent as I’ve directed, yeah?”

Lusul looked up at me, his near-pink eyes bright in the darkness. “Yeah,” he said quietly, sounding slightly ashamed. “I think I’m close to getting it. Like… I feel the texture of it, as you describe. But I can’t decipher it, not really.”

I stared out over the milling Alacryan soldiers, every one of them mages. Each of them with intent.

“I know what you need to really grasp that feeling,” I said, rolling my shoulders. “I have for while. But truth be told, Lusul, I’ve been a bit afraid myself to try. To actually give it a shot.”

I flourished my hand, calling on my dimension ring. A familiar case set into my hands, gleaming silver and flashing in the darkness. With barely a word, I withdrew my violin and bow, inspecting the burnished Clarwood.

Images flashed through my mind of the last time I’d tried to play my music. Where my hands had shook, stained as they were with the blood of innocents. How my fingers had trembled and failed each time I tried to play a single note.

Because all I could see was my blade ending the life of Skarn Earthborn, and the deep fire in Hornfels as he tried to wreak vengeance for his twin.

I settled the violin against my collar, my hands steady despite their desire to tremble. Around me, Seris’ troops had started taking notice, their eyes widening as they saw my preparation. Muffled whispers quieted their work as they inadvertently forgot their duties.

I stared across the meager crowd, remembering the hundreds who had attended my concerts in Central Academy. The multitudes that had stood enraptured with every pull of my violin bow.

“Music is how we express our souls,” I whispered quietly, low enough only Lusul–watching with nervous eyes–could hear. “It’s how we connect with each other; cement our resolve and ensure our humanity.”

I felt Aurora’s comforting hand on my shoulder, warm thoughts streaming over our bond. Like cool spring water on a hot day, it seeped into my muscles and bones as I relaxed, drinking in the smoky air.

These people no doubt heard of my performances in Alacrya. Hell, some of them might have even attended. And the reactions of the guards and mages served to heighten the anxiety of the watching dwarven nonmages.

I rested my bow across the strings of my violin, the familiar sensation seeming to reverberate through my nerves and mana core.

Then I began to play.

This time, I pulled on my resolve. The resolutions I’d made in the wake of my battle with Arthur, of the certainty that I wouldn’t always make things better. That the consequences of my actions might sting and burn as they revealed themselves.

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I thought of the Hearth as I played a somber note, my mind focusing on Mordain’s taunting letter. Maybe my actions had resulted in the deaths of thousands. Maybe they hadn’t. The accusation hurt me. The thought of it hurt me, carving tracks and scars through my soul. But neither could I ignore the potentiality that it was because of me.

I can never dismiss my actions or their potential effects, I thought as I continued to play, the ambient mana twisting and warping as my intent spread like a cool mist. I will always be conscious of them. Always acknowledge them. But never will I let the fear of what might be prevent me from taking action.

The blood of innocents was on my hands. Red trailed in my wake, but that would not stop me from seeking a better path. A brighter dawn.

I could sense the awe-filled intent of the mages around me slowly growing in sync as they basked in the music I created. Gradually, even the skeptical dwarves began to listen, watching in shock and confusion as my magic brushed against their heartfires. Against their souls.

As I gradually slowed my song, ending on a hopeful note, I observed the bow of my violin. It was a beautiful thing, my instrument. I could think of few things more wonderful.

I could sense the intent of the soldiers around me in the empty aura of silence that trailed in the wake of my music. I was aware that it must have been far more powerful. Far more gripping than nearly anything else I’d played before. The effect of a white core mage on the ambient mana was beyond anything a silver core mage could normally produce.

And also… I could almost feel it. The connection with each and every soul around me.

If I stare at the sea of void beyond my soul, I thought, gazing at the ornate strings of my bow, will I be able to see the souls of these nameless mages, now?

“I can feel it,” Lusul said beside me, his voice cracking. “Their intent… Great Vritra, I can feel it.”

I smiled slightly, patting him comfortably on the back. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I said wistfully. “People feel so much. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Lusul stared at me, his almost-pink eyes blown wide. “You can feel this… with everyone? Every mage?”

“I can,” I said honestly. “I wanted to show you this first, Lusul. Before I started teaching you how to project your intent into the mana, I wanted you to be able to know what exactly you were influencing. You needed to know the burden of it.”

Lusul stared out across the crowd, who were shifting nervously and muttering as they looked at me as if they couldn’t decide if I were a live wire or an inviting fire. “This is what you seek to influence, Lusul,” I said solemnly. “Each and every one of those intents? It's more than just dough for you to manipulate and twist. Beneath every pulse and flare of intent is a person, a human being with thoughts and desires as deep as the sea.”

I turned, pulling my violin back into my dimension ring. “Next time, I’ll show you true music.”

I left the young Named Blood there, his eyes glassy and his intent trembling with realization.

“You do good work, my son,” Aurora said, her clockwork relic flitting around my shoulder. “I always loved to sing, but I kept it to myself. As I watch you, I wonder… I wonder if it was wrong of me to do so.”

Not wrong, Aurora, I thought back. But it is a part of me, to be so open with my emotions and self to those around me. It isn’t something anyone can do.

Aurora was silent as I approached Barth the storyteller, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. “I’ve heard that ya were called Spellsong,” he said. “I asked around; heard from yer troops that it was because of your magic music. Caught my attention, ya see. Cuz of my own craft. But hearin’ it…”

“It is unique,” I said, noting how the dwarves around watched me. “But I wanted to talk to you again, Barth. You’re a storyteller, and I’ve been reading up a lot on dwarven culture. But there’s only so much you can learn from books and not firsthand experience.” I’d gone through a dozen books on dwarven myths and legends, as well as their musical tomes to gain a better understanding of the stocky people. “And pardon for pointing this out, but you are a half-dwarf. I figured you might be able to, well...”

I trailed off awkwardly as Barth raised an eyebrow, a smile growing on his face. “Tell ya in human terms, aye?” he said with a chuckle. “There ain’t no better place, Spellsong! Come on and listen. There’s never an excuse ta avoid a story!”

And for the next several hours, I sat with Barth, helping distribute food and listening to folk tales not just from Darv, but Elenoir and Sapin too. It was a familiar action; one that made me think of Greahd and East Fiachra. It reminded me of Hofal’s quiet talks that supported you like the stones and architecture he was so proud of.

But even so, part of me felt… Distant and detached. Guilt gnawed at my insides as awareness of this war’s end loomed like a shadow in my mind. I’d fostered unity among dwarves and Alacryans, but they would soon be conquered.

And just like East Fiachra, this hovel of community I’d carved for myself would shrivel away. I’d be a part of it, true, but those within could never afford to know all of what I was.

The realization was painful. I’d scraped out little communities for myself in this world, but nothing that could truly accept everything of me. East Fiachra welcomed the young boy who grew up at the Healer’s Guild. The dwarven rebels cheered for Spellsong, the Alacryan who brought unity. And the Rats needed a knife to sink into the stomach of Blood Joan and every blithe producer that ravaged Fiachra.

But in the wake of my somber talk with Lusul, I realized that these small pockets of community would only ever know shades of the dawnlight in my heart. Never the full thing.

The darkness of these caverns was affecting me more and more.

But all good things had to come to an end. Eventually, as Barth finished up an old folk tale of how a dwarf sought to court Mother Earth herself—he’d failed, simply becoming another bit of stone as all dwarves supposedly did on death—I felt a slight mana pulse radiate from my breast pocket.

I gracefully extracted myself from the storyteller, promising him another performance of my violin, before lifting into the air.

I followed the mana pulse, trailing it like a hunter tracing a lead. Aurora’s puppet flitted around me as I trailed out of the massive cavern of Burim, taking in the setting sun as it kissed the wine-dark waters in the bay.

Seris waited for me high in the sky, regal as ever. The wind blew her silver hair like waves of platinum turned into pristine threads. As I rose into the air, she turned to greet me.

“Your performance for the dwarves was enlightening, Toren,” she said as I drifted close. “With every passing day, I find the place I’ve made for you to be even more fitting.”

I kept my focus on the distant water, tracing the milling steamships as they belched black smoke into the darkening sky. Even as Seris linked her arm with mine, the wind cascading around us, I kept my focus forward. “It’s not an easy thing,” I started, “integrating myself with these people as I work to bring about their subjugation.”

Seris inspected me from the side, her arm squeezing mine in an imploring manner. Aurora’s puppet settled on my shoulder, crooning softly. “I wonder,” I said, feeling solemn. “I’ve learned so many stories from the dwarves in these past months. And I know what you’re planning and hoping for in conquering them. But I can’t help myself worrying, that when this is over, I will be the only one to know these stories. I’ll be the last to remember them.”

Seris would be able to push for Darv to be operated like Sehz-Clar if she were to personally emerge victorious over the dwarves. I already saw it in how the Alacryans under her command interacted with the dwarves, but…

“I don’t want to be an archivist of the dead, Seris,” I said. “I don’t want to be a grave keeper for them, masked as an inviting hand.”

My lover was silent after my words. I could sense it in her intent—my words were making her think. She absorbed and cycled them within that terrifyingly brilliant mind of hers, looking for the perfect response to settle my mind at ease.

“You may very well be. I won’t lie to you. I can’t lie to you,” she said in a bit of a whisper as she drifted closer, savoring my body heat as our shoulders touched. “I received word not long ago that our assault on Vildorial was successful. Alacrya holds the capital of Darv, and the country as a whole will not last much longer under our assault. And I will try to push my agenda as Agrona’s hand sweeps across this continent, but we both know he will not tolerate dissent.”

I took a deep breath, thinking of all the pieces in this war. Tonight, I would set out toward the Hearth, and I knew not how long I would be gone. The war could be over by the time I returned.

“There is something I need your advice on,” I said, pushing away from Seris slightly. “About my fight with Viessa, and what I did wrong. Where I need to improve.”

Seris’ tilted her head as she looked at me. “Where you need to improve, Toren?” she questioned.

I hovered backward. “Yeah,” I said, my brow furrowing. “I haven’t been a white core mage long, Seris, but my battle with Viessa really cemented that for me. Not just that, though. I have so many abilities and capabilities, but I didn’t utilize them all effectively. And beyond that, I’ve grown reliant on certain senses. Specifically for heartfire and intent. When they were absent, I struggled to predict and react to my opponents.”

Aurora’s puppet fluttered on my shoulder, speaking her mind openly for the first time. “I have taught Toren nearly everything he knows of combat, Seris Vritra,” she said, her clockwork puppet whirring. “And we both agreed, on past review, that my son is in need of… outside perspective to help him grow and utilize every ability in his arsenal, and truly soar as his bloodline demands.”

My bond was reluctant to say as such. She held pride in her teachings and the warrior I had become, but admitting that they could be refined by another—much less a Vritra-blood—was something that burned her.

But my bond wouldn’t let her pride get in the way of helping me improve. Of helping me become everything I could be.

“I need your help, Seris,” I said seriously, “and I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again.”

Seris’ face slowly lit up with a genuine smile—the kind that always made my heart beat just a bit faster and the blood rush to my head. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, the gears of her brain turning.

“A puzzle you’ve presented me with, then,” she said. “I’d be happy to help you solve it.”