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Chul Asclepius

The dirt crunched beneath my feet as I marched forward, stalwart in my resolve. Around me, the children of men laughed and played with the frivolity of youth. I kept my eyes alert and focused, wary and ready for any kind of cowardly assault from our vicious enemies. Suncrusher rested leisurely on my shoulder, the glowing mace ready for any wayward strike.

None showed their corrupted faces as we walked along the trail, hundreds of feet stomping and plodding on their way to promised salvation. Yet I would not let my guard down, for that would be tantamount to forsaking my sworn duty.

When I had left the Hearth a few months back, I had not known what direction to take. The sky was so vast. It was impossibly great and large and expansive. I had barely seen the sky, trapped as I was within the confines of stone and nature that was the Hearth for all my life, but once I let my wings kiss the breeze, I wondered even more how my family could intern themselves for so long. How could they deny themselves the sweet taste of freedom?

I frowned darkly. They fear the Vritra more than they love the skies, I thought with disdain. I was no coward. It was they.

Beside me, one of the human children stumbled as a rock proved too great a challenge for their balance. They flailed their short arms, crying out in distress as they fell in slow motion to the ground.

I would not allow it. With a quick shift of my feet and a deft scoop of my free arm, I interceded, denying gravity her prize. I caught the little human before they could taste the earth, ensuring that they remained safe.

The little human looked up at me with big, brown eyes. I thought that was strange. Eyes should be orange or red. Or perhaps blue or purple. But these humans all had strange colors.

I did not voice my concerns. Instead, I made sure to set the young human down, ensuring they had their feet beneath them.

“Do not let your steps falter, young one,” I said, my voice rumbling as I tried to keep it hushed. Mother always said that I needed to be quieter when speaking, lest I scare away my prey. This young boy was not the object of a hunt, yet he shivered and acted like those things I hunted so long ago with my Mother regardless. “Ensure that your stance is steady and strong, and no rock shall rob you of your balance.”

The little human shuddered slightly, his mother rushing over. I turned away as I saw her, unable to look. Too cowardly. Instead, I patted the young human on the head once. “Try not to fall again, young man. We will not always have our mothers to pick us up.”

The boy nodded in a daze before his mother smothered him with worry and affection. Though before I had kept my senses out and beyond, now I stretched them yet further so as to avoid hearing the words of the woman beside me.

“You are a very strange mage,” a familiar voice said from not so far away. “I do not know much about mages, Lord Chul, but I do not think they are all like you.”

I readjusted Suncrusher from where she rested on my shoulder, ensuring the sunlike-rays from the burnished cracks along its head would not blind the kind elder. “I do not think it strange, Mayor of Men,” I said. “My Mother taught me that all children are sacred. It is law where I come from, and surely you see this.”

The Mayor of Men was a short, squat, and thin human. His arms could wield no weapons, and the aged complexion of his skin told me he could not fare on the battlefield. But when I had found his great city under assault by the rabid, corrupted monsters of the Vritra, he had stayed strong.

The Mayor looked up at me, squinting as he observed my face. I looked back down. “That is not really what I meant, Lord Chul,” he said after a moment. “But I do not think it matters.”

We were on a quest now. In the wake of the corrupted beast attack, the great city of the humans had been decimated. A few hundred of their kind had been displaced, hurt, and broken. I had contributed all I could to try and alleviate the pain caused by the monsters from Alacrya, but I could not bring back their dead, and I could not rebuild their houses.

That is something the people of my clan could do, I thought once again. I may be limited to the arts of fire and war, but they can build and create. Yet they do not help the poor souls of this land.

A messenger had come not long after, claiming to be carrying word from the great union of races. All were to evacuate the countryside and move toward the place where black bends.

It was a strange name for a city. Why should they call it Blackbend when there was no true warping of color there? Yet another oddity.

“You’ve spoken a bit about your mother,” the Mayor of Men said with questioning intent. “You speak of her with great pride.”

I nodded sharply. “My mother is a valiant woman,” I spoke from the depths of my heart. “She was the greatest of my clan, Mayor of Men. But she was betrayed by the cowards of the Vritra clan. They could not have faced her head-on, for her prowess was mighty and her fists strong. But now…”

I thought of all I knew from Uncle’s words. He knew not if Mother was alive or dead, but something had changed. And he would not tell me everything, so now I sought answers for myself.

“I know not if she lives,” I said, my rumbling baritone quieting as the fire in my core burned low. “Yet I will learn of her and what has become of her in the wake of the Vritra’s schemes.”

The Mayor of Men sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I am sorry for that, Lord Chul,” he said. “If it is worth anything, you are not alone in your plight. With the Alacryans attacking our shores, our supplies for farming became scarcer and prices skyrocketed. We were a small village, you know. Only a few hundred people. The taxes were already hard, but then the dwarves started pushing us from the south.”

The old man looked at the convoy around us. His eyes lingered on the few mana beasts that hauled the carts of wounded and supplies each, the creatures barely more than skin and bones themselves. “And now this, with the attacks from mana beasts and rumors of the dwarves siding with the Alacryans… We can’t even farm now. We can’t grow our crops or sow our seeds.”

My fists clenched at the good Mayor’s words. “You say these dwarves hurt you, Mayor of Men?”

The man looked up at me, his face sad. Yet he spoke not.

I felt that familiar fire growing in my stomach. The surge of righteous fury that fueled every strike of my explosive power. I kept my attention focused, though, fearful that any leak of my mana would cause the hearts of these good people to shake and seize. “I will see justice done for you, Mayor of Men,” I said staunchly, thumping my fist against my broad chest. “The Vritra take all that they can, but I will rain fire on them for their sins. Mark my words–your people shall be avenged.”

The Mayor shuffled slightly as he walked. “I may not be a fighter, Lord Chul, but I have seen them. Back in the last war between humans and elves, when I was young and spry. I knew too many friends who threw themselves into the horrible meat grinder of war for whatever reason.”

“Worry not, good leader,” I said, dismissing his fears. I was great and powerful, especially in comparison to the many mages of this land. The Vritra would only feel fear as Suncrusher cratered in their skulls. “I am more than I let myself seem. The strength of my magic is bound by blood and heartfire. The justice I bring will be true.”

The Mayor of Men was a great leader, and he was certainly wise. I could see no other way that a sole man could lead several hundred. After all, my clan numbered in the same range, as did most asuran lines. It was a tragic loss of life and livelihood that he had experienced, but the blood spilled by the Vritra would be repaid in turn.

My head snapped to the side in alarm, however, as I heard the sound of wood creaking. My dark orange hair shifted slightly as I saw the source of the commotion.

One of the great pack beasts–a skitter, as it was named–was stumbling and failing to pull a covered wagon. One of the wheels appeared to have broken, and in turn the axle of the craft had shattered. This part of the procession of men, women, and children halted as the wagon tumbled into the road haphazardly, no longer able to move.

Immediately, I stepped forward, Suncrusher heavy on my shoulder as I observed the wreckage. I stood head and shoulders taller than these famished people, allowing me a clear vantage to understand. Around me, the people kept a small distance, unwilling to look into my eyes or talk for too long.

I could hear the groaning of the wounded within. The quiet moans of pain as they were jostled and moved about unduly by the failure of their craft.

The Mayor of Men stepped forward, parting the small crowd. “What’s happened here?” he said urgently, his hand trembling around his staff.

A man I recognized had been leading the skitters wrung his hands after struggling to detach the agitated skitters, his face shifting between a dozen emotions. “The wheel and axle broke, Jonathan,” he said. “We can’t move the wounded without some sort of repairs.”

“And can you repair it?” the Mayor asked with plain worry.

“Maybe,” the carriage driver responded. “But that will take time. Several hours at least! But these people are already in critical condition. The woodswoman that saw to them said we can’t wait long to get them to an emitter or healer at Blackbend, but this would delay that,” he said, his voice growing progressively quieter as he spoke, trying to avoid the panicked looks of the people around him.

A ripple of uncertainty and fear radiated through the crowd as more and more stopped to gaze upon the unfolding situation. My free hand clenched and unclenched, that fire in my gut surging as my blood heated.

“You only need this carriage taken to the walls where black bends, yes?” I said, stepping forward as I looked down at the driver.

The man sputtered as he looked up at me. “Y-Yes, Lord Chul,” he said. “But it’s a dozen miles still to the city!”

I rolled my shoulders, adjusting my grip on Suncrusher as I stared down at the carriage. “Then it is light work,” I said, shifting so that I was at the front of the carriage. “Tell me, carriage driver. Where must I hold this cart so that it will not fracture further?”

The carriage driver blinked, looking at me without understanding. “The front frame can support the weight of the carriage. It has to for repairs, but… but that’s several tons at least! You can’t–”

I knelt, holding out my free hand behind me. I grasped the sturdy wood, feeling it beneath my palms. It was made of good stock, but had been battered and worn by overuse. It would last the journey.

With hardly any pull on my meager mana reserves, I stood, lifting the carriage up so that it rested on its hind wheels once more. The jaws of the watching humans dropped as I stared down with a will of iron at the carriage driver.

“I will take you to the city where black bends,” I said seriously, flexing my muscles as I settled my resolve. “And your people will see justice.”

—

My mana core was quick to burn through its reserve. As I bore the blood of both phoenix and djinn, my powerful asuran body was restricted by the peaceful nature of my Father’s people. My body consumed mana to survive like Mother’s people, but with a weakened core, it was easy to burn away like a wildfire that consumes all its tinder.

But the cart was light, despite the many wounded within. As I carried it for mile after mile, the awestruck people of the destroyed city gradually drifted back into the mess of the moving crowd.

As we drew nearer, I watched with surprise as more and more moving trains of people flocked in our direction. The sight was like hundreds of sureswipe ants returning to their colony after a successful hunt.

But as the train of refugees became a marching army, uncertainty rose in my mana core. There were so many people. My Mother and Uncle had told me, of course, that the humans reproduced faster and spread greater distances than we asura of the Hearth. But there were just so many.

And then the city crested the horizon.

Massive walls of tall, dark granite surrounded an impossible sprawl of buildings within, the looming earth snaking around for what must have been miles. With my enhanced senses, I could make out the distant smells of oil, leather, and sweat. The city itself stood in the great shadow of the Grand Mountains, and if I squinted my eyes, I could make out a dot further in the sky far to the north.

I watched, my jaw threatening to gape as our train slowly approached the looming walls. Yet we were halted at a gate, a long line of dirty peasants and nervous humans barring our way. Hundreds–no, thousands of humans milled about in camps outside those great walls. More refugees bearing the same worn and tired expressions of my comrades. Thousands of men, stretching all around the city.

I slowed in my march, not yet feeling the ache in my muscles. But I gently set down the cart of wounded anyway.

“Mayor of Men… This cannot be a single city. It is too large. Too big. I have never seen a place of living so vast. Do you not have a greater word for it?” I said, staring up at the tall walls.

The Mayor turned to me, his face wrinkled. His gaze darted to the cart of wounded, and then back to me. “Blackbend City is one of Dicathen’s densest cities,” he said slowly, “but it is still just a city, Chul. After all, I was only the leader of a small village.”

I blinked, then looked down at the Mayor in surprise. “But you led a dozen score men!” I said, my voice booming. “If that is not the marker of a great population and bountiful people, I know not what is!”

The Mayor was unsurprised by my outburst, simply taking my confusion in stride. Were humans truly this numerous? It was hard to imagine. I had thought his hearth a city, not a mere village!

The Mayor stared with uncertainty and doubt at the line before us. “I did my best, Chul. But I still–” the man shook his head. “Regardless, this line will stall us by several hours, and the wounded need attention now. There might be another line for those who are strictly injured, so I’ll have to send some of the townsfolk to do a perimeter walk of the city to see. And looking at it, I doubt we shall even be allowed entrance. All the refugees are camping outside the walls.”

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I shook my head, clearing my mind of my surprise. It was no good to let oneself be taken unawares in battle, as Mother said, and life was just the same.

“No need, Mayor of Men,” I said sternly, looking up at the sky. “I will see to the scouting of greater paths.”

The sun was well past its zenith, and soon, dusk would fall. I felt the rising timbre of my blood as it began to sing, fire racing along my veins as I clenched and unclenched my free hand.

I wanted to soar.

“Keep watch over your people, good Mayor,” I said, my blue-and-orange eyes narrowing as I stared up at the sun. “I will return soon.”

Then I bent my knees, imbuing my legs with mana. My bright orange martial robes flared as I gathered power to myself.

Then I leapt upward.

The mana in the atmosphere carried me, lifting me higher and higher and higher. I barely had a moment to comprehend the surprised look on the Mayor’s face before I was a child of the winds, hauled aloft by her touch.

I stopped eventually, staring up at the sky as the wind ruffled my robes and pulled at my short hair. Unable to restrain the vigor flowing through my blood, I bellowed a hearty laugh that came deep from my soul.

I am so free, I thought, feeling the cool breeze this high in the sky. I am unburdened.

I knew it, then. I would never be able to live within the Hearth again–not when I had tasted this glorious brush of freedom and the embrace of the sky as she denied the tyranny of gravity. My blood sang in a way I had never felt before.

I stared out at the sun as it inched down toward the horizon far to the west. Miles upon miles of rolling plains and dotted hillsides and small mountains arrayed themselves as far as the eye could see, but my focus was drawn only to the setting star.

“I will find you, Mother,” I vowed again, my hand clenching around Suncrusher. “I promise you. Your son has not forgotten you.”

I ground my teeth as I felt the well of petty sentiment rise in my chest. I forcibly snuffed it out, burying it as one does a kindling ember. I sniffled as I observed the sunset, then turned to gaze back down at the city of men.

It was so vast. Large beyond my comprehension, even this high in the air. I could see the many people milling about and darting through the streets in a hurry and reserve both. It was one large, packed bundle of life. So very, very different from the Hearth.

They are always moving so fast, I thought, my eyes sharpening as I enhanced them with mana. I spotted a young man as he darted through the streets, in such a rush he didn’t notice one of the apples he was carrying as it fell asunder. Can they not slow down? Can they not take the time to watch their steps?

That was the kind of thing my Uncle would say to me, but as I saw thousands–no, tens of thousands, maybe more–darting about all in confusion, I thought for the very first time that he might have held a point.

If only he would be here to say it to the humans, I thought, my expression evening out. Then it would mean something.

I swiveled my head around the perimeter of the city, noting the singular line from whence I had come. So many people. But as I traced the outline of the granite walls, I saw another place where people were entering.

There, I thought, calling on the magic in my core. Surely, that is the place where the wounded are allowed in.

I descended slowly toward the ground nearby, careful not to alert or startle the mana beasts and men that approached the opposite gate.

Yet as I lowered, I noticed strange discrepancies. The carriages moving into the city were gaudy and rich, flashing deep purples and reds and golds all across their linings. The smell of scented perfumes and churning greed caused me some hesitation as I finally touched down a ways away.

Suncrusher settled resolutely on my shoulder as I began my march toward the tall gates, noting how slim the line was. Men in gaudy clothes and pompous attire peered out from their carriages as I touched down, their eyes wide and their mana trembling.

No, I thought as I neared. This is not a line for the wounded. It is something else.

There was a large man in gaudy clothes talking with a gate guard, gesticulating wildly as he held some sort of badge aloft. “And who are you to deny my noble house their entry into this city?” the fat one snarled, his body bristling like an angry beast. “The esteemed house of Beynir will not stand to be kept waiting for so long outside the walls, guard. What is your name?”

The guard visibly paled beneath his plate armor. “You are free to enter, Sir Lionel Beynir,” he said pleadingly, his posture hunched beside the tall gate. “It is just that we may not have the high-quality accommodations you’re looking for–”

The big one–Sir Lionel Beynir–raised a meaty fist, smacking it across the guard’s plated helm. The guard stumbled back, dazed. “That is tantamount to refusing me, fool,” he snapped, his love handles bristling. “To have a noble of my bloodline in anything less than the best quarters is denying my entry. I will have the name of your superior, immediately!”

The guard stuttered, and I felt a rising fury grow in my gut. My face dipped into a scowl as I watched the guard sputter to respond, the fat one raising his hand to strike him once again.

I pulsed mana across my bones and muscles, then I pushed forward.

The displacement of air blew bits of dust and chips of stone around me as I appeared beside the “noble,” catching his fist in my hand. It was a petty strength that pressed into the meat of my palm.

The noble Beynir sputtered in surprise and horror as I interceded between him and the guard. He tried desperately to pull his hand back from my grip. “What in the–”

“You will not lay a hand on the weak,” I said, my voice resonating. “Only strike those who can strike back, Fat Noble. This is no worthy contest.”

The Fat Noble squawked in surprise as he finally pulled his hand back, stumbling as his undue girth unsteadied his balance. Sweat beaded on his skin as his pinprick eyes narrowed on me, his other hand massaging his knuckles. “How dare you lay hands on a noble of Sapin!” he hissed, raising a finger thick as a sausage as he stumbled backward. “I’ll have you flogged, you damn fool!”

His neck swiveled–or what could be called a neck–as he stared angrily back at his carriage. “Guards! See to it that this idiot is on his knees and bloodied for his crimes!”

The guard trembled behind my study bulk as I watched half a dozen human mages crawl from their caravan, their eyes hardening as they stared at me. All were arrayed in different forms of rune-covered armor, no doubt considered impressive by the standard of this people.

“Sir, you need to run–” the guard said behind me.

“Worry not, Small Guard,” I said, shifting my stance as I held Suncrusher on my shoulder. “So long as I stand between you and evil, you will have protection.”

My eyes watched as the mages began to surround me, attempting in vain to block me in. “Wasn’t smart of you,” one of them said as they passed the Fat Noble. “Tryin’ to pick a fight with House Beynir. But it isn’t anything personal,” he said, flourishing a spear.

I inhaled, then let out a breath. I slowly heaved Suncrusher off my shoulder, the mace suddenly seeming far more heavy. It looked like the scale of the earth’s crust as if kissed by fire, little rivulets of light pulsing between chasms along the head.

As these petty men saw the face of my weapon more clearly, they hesitated, watching it with uncertainty. I kept my mana leashed, so they did not comprehend the predator they faced. They did not understand that they faced a warrior of the Hearth.

“My Mother preached mercy,” I said lowly, feeling the fire in my blood rise as my mana trembled. “But mercy is dead, Petty Men. You will find none should you continue on this doomed path.”

A pulse of power radiated from the depths of my being, agitating the ambient mana as it traveled in a swell. A flurry of wind trailed in its wake, causing the clothes of the mages to whip backward and pebbles to dance along the roads. The Fat Noble stumbled, his eyes widening as his carriage shook.

I raised Suncrusher high, feeling the kiss of the sunlight behind me as she radiated her power. “Take one step forward,” I said, glaring at the guards as they began to tremble from the barest glimpse at my strength, “and I will bring the sun down.”

I could sense their hesitation. They were starting to recognize what they faced.

“Don’t just stand there, idiots!” the Fat Noble said behind them, blubbering as he stumbled back to his cart. “Attack him!”

The lead soldier’s arm shook where he held his spear, indecision warring there. Suncrusher stayed in the air, ready to reap her vengeance.

“This is unseemly,” a new voice said, interrupting the tension. I turned my head a fraction of an inch as I saw a new figure approach.

A man in a dark suit trimmed so perfectly to his body I wondered if it were of asuran craft stepped forward, walking from another carriage a ways back. His close-cropped black hair clung to his head in perfect style, his posture radiating arrogance and status. Along his breast, a stylized brooch bearing a flame hung neatly. His expression was severe and cold.

“Lionel Beynir,” the man said, addressing the Fat Noble, “you should withdraw your troops.”

The Fat Noble’s beady eyes snapped to the newcomer. “But he interrupted me, Trodius. He stopped me from–”

“Lord Beynir,” Trodius interrupted coolly, “you are not conducting yourself in a manner fit for a noble. Settle yourself, then speak again.”

The tall, dark man’s words cut through the fat one’s sputtering like the greatest asuran knife. “I apologize, Lord Flamesworth,” he ground out, his eyes flicking back to me. “But this lumbering brute put himself in front of our convoy when we were set to enter. He is obstructing noble business.”

The now-named Trodius Flamesworth looked me up and down with his cold eyes. I matched his gaze with mine, my eyes still burning with fire. His gaze flicked to Suncrusher, still hefted in silent threat, then back to me.

I could see the schemes behind his eyes.

“I do not believe I have ever seen you, newcomer,” Trodius Flamesworth said, stepping forward without showing fear. His hands were locked behind his back, and he radiated no killing intent as he stood before me. “Yet you arrive from the sky and threaten the men under my protection.” Trodius turned slightly, acknowledging the trembling soldiers as they finally retreated.

“It was your man who first erred,” I rebutted, fire rumbling in my voice. The ambient mana churned from my power as it was slowly unleashed after being kept in check for so long. Behind Trodius Flamesworth, the Fat Noble trembled, the stench of urine radiating from his pants. “He thought to strike a man who could not strike back.”

I leaned down so that I was eye-to-eye with this Trodius, matching his red pupils with my mismatched ones of orange and pale blue. I bared my teeth in a threatening snarl. “And it is only just to return every strike given. An eye for an eye.”

To his credit, the nobleman did not tremble or shake. I saw his schemes in his eyes, but he did not waver as the men around him. The only sign of his discomfort was how his hands clenched behind his back and the slight gritting of his teeth.

“What reason did you come here for initially, mage?” he asked instead.

My eyes narrowed. “I seek protection for the ravaged people of Sapin. I shelter the wounded beneath my wing, but they will not see the dawn if they do not see your healers. So I sought another place of entrance, yet happened upon injustice instead.”

Trodius’ eyes narrowed. “That is all?”

Suncrusher flared, sparks fluttering across its head, and Trodius swallowed imperceptibly as the heat washed over him. “That is all.”

There was a tense, tense silence for a long moment as we stared at each other. I saw the schemes in his eyes finally solidify, finally cement into something sharp.

“Lionel Beynir, our entrance into the great city of Blackbend will be delayed for a time,” he said after a moment. “This warrior has brought his people to safety. It is only fitting that the nobles of Sapin tend to her people, and the healers of the Flamesworth House are the best that anyone can find. And considering how you have inconvenienced him, it is only fair that we repay it in turn.”

I blinked, slowly straightening as I stared down at the nobleman in confusion. Though the men behind him tried to fight it, he did not give their words due heed. Simply stared up at me.

I thought about it for a time, weighing what I should do. “Very well,” I said after a moment. My eyes turned back to the guard I had interceded for. “But should those under my protection see any sort of harm, I will repay it in turn upon you and your men.”

Trodius Flamesworth nodded sharply. “Be on your way, then,” he said. “My convoy will wait for your return.”

I sensed no trap, yet I could not help but feel as if I had been led by the nose as I let the wind carry me back into the sky. The mages stumbled backward as the wind pushed them aside and I flew toward my charges.

—

It did not take long for me to haul the cart of wounded to the noblemen, the Mayor of Men trailing nervously with me. When I had told him of the deal I had struck, he had grown fearful and afraid, and while I did not admit it, I felt a sort of twist in the depths of my core as I laid the cart of wounded before the mages said to be healers.

I still stood by the cart as the emitters worked, watching their craft. I felt my jaw clench as they nervously called on their healing magic, beckoning the ambient aether to their call. Aether I could not sense or touch.

Trodius Flamesworth strode up to me, his shoes seeming to ignore the dust as a concept. He watched me with hawklike red eyes as I observed the mages do their work.

“I never received your name, warrior,” he said sharply as he observed with me. “I must know what to address you as.”

“I am called Chul among my people,” I said, staring at the healing mages.

My father was the last of the living djinn in the Hearth. It had been so many years… Years that just faded into the background of repetition. Centuries since I had witnessed the arts of the djinn.

It seemed something of my father’s lineage remained in the people of this continent, if in trace amounts.

Will I ever be able to feel the aether of my heart? I wondered as I stared down. Or the aether of the sky?

I could sense neither, despite my dual lineage. It was suspected by the elders of my clan that the two blood-tied insights were incompatible and could not mesh. But that felt wrong, somehow.

Maybe if I had ever undergone my First Sculpting, I thought, my fist clenching around Suncrusher. Maybe then I would be able to drink of aether.

“Chul,” Trodius said slowly. “It is not a Dicathian name.”

“It is not.”

A silence spread between us as we both watched the emitters do their work. I knew not how long they tarried, but before long, the wounded and injured were cured of their surface and critical maladies. Few awoke or were conscious, yet I could tell from their eased breathing that they were indeed healed.

I turned to the noble beside me, scrutinizing him darkly. He was a schemer. The kind that my Uncle warned me of. Yet he had also acted justly to assuage the guilt of his subordinate.

“You have acted justly today, Noble of Flames,” I said, my eyes narrowed. “I will not forget it, but I will not give you my trust.”

Trodius Flamesworth shifted at my words, pulling on a set of gloves that he retrieved from his pocket. “I did no such thing as justice, Lord Chul,” he said sternly. “Because justice does not exist.”

I blinked in surprise, then scoffed. “Sense is lacking in your words, Noble of Flames.”

Trodius looked up at me. “When the beast horde attacked these people in the countryside,” he started, his eyes roving over the wagon as the Mayor of Men bowed and prostrated before the emitters in thanks, “were they acting with injustice? Did they conceive of any sin?”

My brow furrowed. “They are beasts. How could they?”

“They were beasts,” Trodius agreed. “Corrupted, perhaps. But following instincts inscribed into their blood. They did not think the act of biting into a child and tearing them apart was wrong, nor believe their actions were unjust. It simply never crossed their minds.”

“But they were beasts. You are not,” I said, confused at this avenue of thought. “I sense you wish to make a comparison, but it is false. Do you not have a conscience?”

“Don’t beasts have a conscience?” Trodius countered, staring up at me with narrowed eyes. “When a mana beast grows in the wild, they gradually develop a subtle, subconscious voice. Just as any other creature. One that tells them that they should not attack their pack-mates, for they will fall with fewer numbers. That they should not leave their children out to die–or that they should abandon those children should they serve unfit to continue the lineage.”

I felt anger growing in my stomach at the man’s words, for I knew them to be false. Yet I could not conjure an immediate response in this duel of words. “That is not what a conscience is,” I finally said, sure of my answer. “It is more than a voice trained by the world. It is innate; a whisper of the aether itself.”

Trodius snorted in disdain. “You are free to think so. But just like any mana beast, we shit. We piss. We sweat. We kill, and we die in turn. But it is those who rise to the top who position themselves as the greatest. A law of the jungle, regardless of any ‘conscience.’ ”

Trodius’ words settled across my bones as he turned back to his carriage. “There is no such thing as justice, Lord Chul. Our tools for putting us above our prey are just more advanced than the mana beasts that grovel beneath our feet. Conscience is just another tool. The lineages and legacies we claim are not done so through any empty morality, but through the power of our fist and the cunning of our minds.”

The well-dressed man strode away without another word, leaving me quietly simmering in anger and disdain.