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Toren Daen

The djinni medallion felt heavy in my dimension ring, strangely enough. As I blew through the dungeons like a living shadow, I contemplated the last gift Rinia Darcassan had given to me.

I knew what it was, after all. It was a key to the faraway djinni sanctuary somewhere in the depths of Darv. If I imbued mana into it like those I knew did from The Beginning After the End, I’d see myself teleported there.

But I didn’t have the time for questions now. The stones above my head dripped with condensation, each drop of water that struck the black stone ground echoing like a thunderclap. The heartbeats of a dozen prisoners along the upper levels reached my ears in various tempos of despair.

Some part of me wondered how those faceless beings behind bars of iron had landed in their current positions. Had they wronged King Arthur? Were they destitute nobles who had taken the wrong steps in their life, becoming penniless? Or perhaps they were Alacryans like myself, condemned as spies to a life where they would never see the light.

Seris had told me that Arthur had rather methodically cut off her spy network within the castle. I wondered if I would recognize anyone in these cells.

I ignored them. The target of my mission wasn’t far away, and now more than ever I needed to keep my entire focus directly on the rescue. Sonar Pulse, my sense for intent and heartfire, the instincts engrained into me from millennia of condensed insight from my phoenix Will kept me sharp as a razor’s edge.

The deeper I trekked into the dungeons, the worse the smell became. The upper levels—where I’d left Rinia Darcassan behind—were sanitary and clean. Most of the cells were bright and clear of mold and taint. But the further down I went, the more it began to degrade. A mishmash of unwashed bodies, urine, and fecal matter plagued the air like rot. No longer were the prisoners in any form of health. Just from their heartfires alone, I could sense the tortures and depravities they’d been subjected to.

That slow, gradual change reminded me of the transition between the districts in Fiachra.

Every bit of Alacrya was a prison, of course. But North Fiachra at least dusted and shined their bars, while the further south and east you went, the true rot and rust began to show.

A few guards patrolled the corridors, but they were easier to avoid and drift past. Despite bearing the mantle of dawn, I blended in perfectly with the shadows as I moved like the darkness itself. With Seris’ cloaking artifact and my own control of sound and mana, I was practically a Wraith.

I paused at the very end of one corridor, sensing a heartbeat at the furthest reaches. Another guard. And from what I could sense of their mana, he was a silver core, too.

Sonar Pulse told me that he was standing right before a door that led down to the very deepest cells. And I wouldn’t be able to pull the same trick with the guard that let me sneak into the castle in the first place.

Right, wasn’t there a man that was supposed to guard the dungeons? What was his name again? I asked myself, trying to recall the man who was… The torturer’s assistant, wasn’t he? What was he called?

I couldn’t remember, but I didn’t recall Arthur mentioning in that otherworld novel that he was this powerful. It made sense, though, that someone of the low silver core at least would be guarding the single entrance to the deepest pits of the dungeons.

It only took a moment for me to decide on my next course of action.

I blurred forward, rushing toward the mage before he even had time to react. He was big and muscled, and his face looked like it had been crafted from an ill-fitted mold filled with poorly-made cement. I didn’t pay the slow rising of his brows any mind, however. Just enveloped us both in a sound barrier, before smoothly sweeping behind his guard and wrapping my arm around his throat.

He struggled for a few seconds, his big, beefy arms slamming against mine as he thrashed in vain to make a sound. His egg of a head slowly went red as I cut off the bloodflow, and no mana-enhanced strength would see him escape.

Wait, I thought, remembrance striking me like lightning as I slowly lowered the unconscious mage to the ground, his name is Duv, isn’t it?!

“Huh,” I said, the sound of my voice still masked by my spell. “That’s a really stupid name.”

I propped the unconscious torturer’s assistant against a nearby wall. I quickly searched his pockets, withdrawing a mana-laden key.

I turned to the door, which was a thick slab of steel with a dozen locks—both mana-made and mechanical. The mana key on Duv’s body unlocked the magic ones, thankfully, and a mix of sonar to get the layout of the pins and my own use of telekinesis saw the others unlocked.

The door swung open silently without even a groan. A yawning, dark abyss waited inside.

I strode in, noting the other familiar heartbeat on the far end of the cells, but they weren’t my target right now.

Cylrit wasn’t hard to find. His pulse was weak, but it was steady. When I arrived like a ghost in front of his cell bars, I was able to get a look at the Retainer I called a friend.

He was lying on a simple bed and clothed in clean linens. His cell was noticeably the cleanest I’d yet witnessed, with a few items of leisure littered about. A couple of books. A pen for writing. But I suspected the only reason he’d been allowed such “niceties” from within a cell was because of the pulsing artifact around his chest.

Some sort of intricate mana core suppression device dug deeply into his sternum. I had been able to sense over the bond between our souls that he was weak and injured, and though his entire body seemed clear of wounds, I could tell this single device–-glittering gold with its mana flow—was the source of his pain.

He doesn’t deserve this, I thought, feeling a suppressed anger rise from my core as I clenched my fists. He went to Arthur in good faith for parlay, and this is what he gets?

Chul had done this, I knew. The bastard child had ruined their meeting. I didn’t know how complicit Arthur was in this, but if I saw him, he would answer for this crime in some way.

As I stared through the bars, the captive Retainer seemed to wake from his restive sleep. He sat up without even a wince like a bent bar of metal straightening out. He turned dull, red eyes towards the edges of his cell.

When they saw me, something in them softened. Though I didn’t look anything like my usual appearance, he no doubt recognized the effects of Seris’ cloaking artifact.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded solemnly.

I didn’t need any more permission. I grasped the cold, manaforged steel bars, calling on my core. Power thrummed along my veins, before I wrenched them to the side. They bent and broke under my power, unable to resist. In no time at all, a space wide enough for me to fit through opened up.

I stepped through, listening to the Retainer’s heartbeat. “Hey, Cylrit,” I whispered, drifting over to his bedside. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

I narrowed my eyes as I inspected the contraption embedded into his flesh, already feeling the fugue state of surgery washing through my veins. From what I could tell on a cursory glance, if I attempted to remove it, the clamps embedded in Cylrit’s chest would cinch shut around his core, breaking it.

Easy enough to bypass, I thought, calling my heartfire to my fingers as I prepared to get rid of this first. It would be risky to enact the second part of our plan if Cylrit couldn’t defend himself. I just need to heal him and his core while restraining the clamps.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Cylrit said, his normally well-groomed hair clinging to his face. “You cannot afford to face Taci Thyestes here. If you die–”

“Seris can’t afford to lose you, either,” I snapped, feeling the tension rise as I became more and more aware of my time limit. Every single drip of water and creak of stone felt like the footsteps of an enemy or the clank of a spear. “You matter, Cylrit. Don’t fucking deny that, you uptight asshole.”

Cylrit’s face screwed up in a familiar expression of disdain as he stared at me. “You’re so quick to cast accusations, risking danger to Seris and yourse–”

The man’s words cut off with a grunt of pain as I quickly tore the device from his chest at record speeds. The clamps tried to snap shut over his core, but only managed deep scrapes over the surface instead. They must have been excruciating.

I absorbed the strange device into my dimension ring, feeling slightly amused by the disgruntled expression on Cylrit’s face. I didn’t grace his stupidity with any response as he heaved for breath, red staining his tunic as his core inched towards dissolving.

As I laid my hand over his chest, I found it even more amusing that this was the first time I’d seen him in anything but that reflective black armor of his. Heartfire streamed from my hands like morning light as it seeped over his wounds, caressing his bloodied chest and easing over the troughs in his core.

That was far, far easier to do now. The mana core was fundamentally different from any other organ in the body. But it was an anchor to the physical plane in a way that was hard to describe. It made the Vessel more real somehow. More present.

Cylrit glared at me as I healed over the damage to his core, which might have otherwise been crippling. “There is no way for us both to escape,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am still weak, and I cannot mask myself like you, Spellsong. I am trapped here. And if you do not leave soon, then that asura will find you.”

I exhaled a breath, then let a devious smirk cross my face. I imagined I looked somewhat like Naereni at that exact moment. “Did you really think I barged in here without a plan?” I said, flourishing my hand. Two items appeared there. “Would you really disrespect ‘Master Seris’ by assuming she hadn’t accounted for that?”

Two pendants hung from my hands by loose leather cords. Each had a weave of helix vines that kept a small marble of glimmering power contained within. The two phoenix wyrm pendants that Roa had crafted for me.

These pendants were what made our rescue plan feasible at all. After a bit of mana buildup, the users would be teleported far away within a cocoon of silver-pink scales. Neither Cylrit nor I needed to leave normally.

Unfortunately, Seris had lost her tempus warp—and Inversion—in the Breaking of Burim, or else this might have been even simpler. But still, I wouldn’t dismiss good fortune.

Cylrit’s face wrinkled in confusion as he stared at the items in my hands, uncomprehending. But the words about Seris gave him the drive he needed.

He took one of the pendants from my hands, then with quiet direction, slowly put it on. The pendant dangled over the bloody stain on his simple clothes from where I’d torn away the mana core suppression device.

“Imbue it with a little bit of mana,” I said quickly, feeling my anticipation and worry crescendo. “You’ll be teleported away somewhere safe. Wait for me, and I’ll find you wherever it takes you.”

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Cylrit’s blood-red eyes widened at the edges, no doubt seeing the genius of Seris’ plan. “Fascinating,” he whispered. “But what of you, Spellsong?”

That other heartbeat in these dungeon cells felt more clear for a moment. “Mawar is here in these cells, too,” I replied, trying to suppress a vindictive snarl. “King Arthur had you captured on pretenses of releasing her. I think I’ll take her with me when I teleport away, too. It's only fair.”

The Retainer was quiet for a moment, and for once, I thought I saw a bit of a smile rise on his face. “Nothing’s fair in war, but I think I see what you mean.”

He started to imbue a little mana into the pendant. I stepped back, sweat slicking my palms as I watched the shroud of liquid mana slowly forming around him. A celestial cocoon of silver-pink scales slowly encased him where he sat on the bed.

I counted down the seconds inside my head as I waited for this process to complete. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.

I restrained the urge to tap my foot as I waited for the shoe to drop. Eight. Seven. Six.

Cylrit was gradually enveloped in that reflective shell, blocking him from sight. And after a sudden moment, I couldn’t sense his heartbeat anymore.

He was gone.

I exhaled a deep, deep sigh of relief as the aether whisked the Retainer away. Chances were he was dropped somewhere randomly in the depths of the Beast Glades far below. He might have to deal with S-class manabeasts in his weakened state, but I had no doubt he’d find that easier than rotting in this cell.

Then I heard it. A single, distant click of boot heels on stone. That click-click-click continued as someone strode through the dungeons. The cadence of their steps was smooth and fluid, impossibly graceful.

My first instinct was anxiety and fear. If someone interrupted my own flight from this castle too soon, then I might have to sneak my way out the normal way. Furthermore, the being who walked closer and closer toward me eclipsed Cylrit’s power by a large margin. And they weren’t a Lance.

Immediately, I knew who strode through these cells towards me. I’d drawn on that heartbeat once before, after all.

I should’ve immediately activated the pendant in my hand. I should’ve allowed those scales of silver to rise around me and teleport me away. Even if I knew there wasn’t time to let them form, it was still a wise decision.

But the amorphous, murky intent that trailed in the wake of those steps made me hesitate. Because it was so, so familiar. I didn’t know if she was even aware how much she was projecting, but the taste and texture of every rise and fall of her emotions…

So I waited. Even though it was foolish, idiotic, and stupid, I waited. Because I needed to see.

When Sylvie Indrath finally reached the edges of the cell, I felt another wave of surprise. I’d been expecting a small girl appearing barely older than seven or eight. Instead, a graceful young woman clothed in a dress of rippling shadow entered my view.

Long, wheat blonde hair cascaded down to her back. Her horns were so black that I wouldn’t have been able to make them out in the darkness, but held in her outstretched hand was a creaking lantern bathing her in warm, orange light.

Her choppy bangs masked her eyes from my sight as her intent radiated quiet despair.

She wasn’t here to fight. The hunch in her shoulders made me wonder if she already felt like she’d lost.

The young dragon raised that lantern higher, casting rays of warm light into the darkness of the cell. That light washed over me like sunlight reflecting off a pale moon.

Sylvie barely seemed to acknowledge the absence of Cylrit in the cell.

“You left Duv alive,” she finally said, her eyes still shadowed. “Thank you for that.”

I worked my jaw, uncertain at the depths of the young dragon’s intent. In truth, I hadn’t even expected her to be here. Seris’ spy network said that Arthur was in Xyrus convening with Dicathen's high command, and I’d assumed his bond would be with him. “I don’t kill unless I need to,” I said honestly. “Are you here to stop me, Lady Indrath?”

Sylvie raised her head, allowing me to see her eyes for the first time. They were supposed to be golden, but it felt like all the polish and shine in the edges of her pupils had been stripped away. The amber color of her pupils was closer to a dull bronze rather than radiant metal. It made me shudder with sorrow.

What happened to her? I wondered, worry suffusing me alongside the shock. Why does she look so much like…

I remembered that time in the aftermath of the Breaking of Burim, when I’d awoken in a tub of blood within Seris’ rooms. I’d stared into the mirror there and seen those exact eyes.

“That artifact does a good job of hiding your mana and appearance, Spellsong,” she whispered quietly, “but the aether in your heart has only ever grown. I knew you were here the moment you stepped on our grounds. But Cylrit never deserved to be held here.”

Even though I was the one in the cell and Sylvie was blocking my way out, part of me recognized that the dragon felt far, far more trapped than I did at that moment. I exhaled, uncertain of what I should say next. “What do you need from me, Lady Indrath?”

The young dragon stared past me, her dull expression roaming about for someone. Something. “Your bond. Aurora Asclepius,” she pushed out. “I need to talk with her. I need her advice. Please.”

I had been subconsciously expecting a lot of things. How did I know about the Legacy? How did I know so much about Arthur’s past life? What were Seris’ plans?

I felt pity well up deep in my soul at the heartfelt desire in the young dragon’s question. Not from the question itself alone, but because I couldn’t give her an answer. Aurora was asleep, trying to regain sense of her soul.

I felt the instinctive urge to take the uncertain asura’s shoulders, to provide her some base of strength. But I could tell that was the last thing she needed right now.

“She can’t answer you right now,” I said quietly. “She’s hurt. After what happened in Burim…”

“Where her son attacked you?” Sylvie finished for me, the creaking of the lantern on its hinges making me wince as much as her words.

“What do you want to ask her, Lady Indrath?” I tried, taking a single step forward. “I’m not her, but I’ll always try to help if I can.”

It had been painful enough to see that hopelessness in my eyes in the immediate aftermath of the Breaking of Burim. Seeing this grim reflection of myself asking for some measure of a lifeline made it even more painful.

Sylvie chewed her lip for a time, looking at me consideringly. She opened her mouth and closed it several times, her intent fluctuating as she tried to find her words.

“How did he do it?” she finally asked. “How did Mordain Asclepius do it?”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

“Find a third option,” she said, the words seeming to crawl from her throat. “Find the courage for something other than futile rebellion or bending the knee.”

I blinked in surprise at the young dragon’s words, but the moment she started talking, words began to spill from her like grain from a torn sack. “Arthur, he… He thinks that’s the only thing we can do. He’s unable to see that it will never work. He thinks he just needs to endure. Like Marlorn. We need to endure. But my father… He made the wrong choice, too. When he learned of what my grandfather did, he became just as bad.”

She looked up at me, her eyes shining with need. I thought I could feel that question over her very soul. “What did the Lost Prince do? How did he take the steps to defy my grandfather?”

I felt a shiver travel through my body as I slowly began to understand what had led to such emptiness in her emotions.

She’d learned the truth of the djinn. Maybe even of this entire war. And despite it all, she was forced into the fruitless position of fighting by her bond’s side as his mind no doubt deteriorated under the weight of his crown.

She presses her emotions outward fervently, I realized as the ambient mana shifted under her emotions, so that Arthur will never feel this despair of hers.

“I don’t know how much you understand about phoenixes, Lady Indrath,” I said after a moment, the light from her lantern dying down slightly, “but we aren’t always the most logical of beings.”

I thought of all the swirls of passion and emotions and life I’d experienced in my short stay in the Hearth. Hell, the logical part of my mind told me that I should still be running right now. Every second that passed made my escape more and more risky.

But as I tried to find the right words to say to the waiting dragon, I realized something important. My mind traced along the paths of that otherworld novel, stalling on one point.

I’d been so desperate for hope, asking for it from others and trying to find a point, that I hadn’t dared to look inward. I had almost forgotten the most important light I had.

“I don’t think Mordain ever acted on logic. I think what he did was probably something impulsive and more than a little stupid when he fled from Epheotus. Sometimes, you can find hope in logic. But sometimes you can’t.”

And despite all of the Lost Prince’s supposed logic and reason for maintaining neutrality, it wasn’t logical. It was all sourced in emotion. Ration and reason should dictate that the phoenixes never fled Epheotus in the first place. The wisest thing to do was to avoid conflict at all and instead settle down in the nest of the status quo enforced by Kezess.

And it wasn’t logic that kept them huddled in the Hearth. It was fear.

Sylvie was silent in the wake of my words, appearing like a statue as she held out the dying lantern. The flame within was dwindling at a rapid pace, the dungeon once again being overcome by shadow.

I clenched my fists. Unclenched them.

“You have the power in you to craft hope,” I whispered. Visions of another timeline fueled my words, one where this young dragon willingly sacrificed herself to see her bond soar above the gods themselves. “It’s there. It has always been there, waiting under the surface for you to see it. Maybe it’s not obvious right now, but there is a path forward. I promise you that.”

I didn’t need the violin in my hands to project the truth of my intent. The earnesty and belief washed through the air like a song, each beat a morning dewdrop that misted over the young dragon’s frame. Her eyes widened in surprise, her mouth opening a little as it all swirled about her.

There was a future where this young dragon became everything that her clan was not. Where she defied Kezess alongside her bond. And maybe that future wasn’t here now. With all that had happened, I didn’t know if that exact future would ever happen.

But that didn’t mean a good ending wasn’t possible. It just meant those who were left had to make it.

“Who are you?" Sylvie whispered, something close to awe washing through her as she bathed in the music of my intent. She raised an arm, appearing to brush her hand through the air. I imagined staves and notes of music dancing along her fingers like caring fireflies.

I chuckled lightly, feeling much of the tension I’d carried this past week evaporate from my shoulders. “Just an observer,” I said honestly, shrugging my shoulders. “Someone who cares.”

Silence reigned between us for a time as the young dragon processed my words. I raised my hand to my neck, brushing it against the pendant there. I needed to leave soon. Very soon. But I wasn’t going to have Mawar escape with me now that Sylvie was here, but…

“When Arthur and Cylrit met, they were discussing an exchange for Mawar’s release,” I said into the stillness, my mana prepared to activate the pendant to whisk me away. “I would be willing to heal both Virion and…”

Sylvie’s eyes flickered warmly, some life returning to them as she stared at me. A slight smile stretched across her features as she heard the first parts of my proposal.

I furrowed my brow, hesitating for a few seconds as I rolled over the possibility in my mind. There was something else I could heal, too.

What I called ‘canon’ was already thoroughly blown to the wind. What was one more good deed? I could grind the High Sovereign’s plans to dust even more. Agrona thrived on options and avenues. Closing one could only be a good thing.

“There is a spell in your core,” I said hesitantly. “Your father implanted it there when you were only an egg. It might be difficult, but there’s a chance I can remove it.”

I’d been getting a better hold on healing mana cores, as well as working around the intricacies of the Mind in contrast with the Soul. It wasn’t a one hundred percent chance, but I might be able to wash away that spell.

Sylvie’s eyes widened, and she took a defensive step back from me. I felt her intent dip back towards something serious and on guard at my words. Her other fist clenched, dark soulfire sputtering over her hands. “How do you know that?” she demanded, her teeth slowly rising into a snarl.

In turn, my eyes widened as well. “You know about it?” I echoed, surprised. I knew I shouldn’t trust that otherworld knowledge of mine so often anymore, but I still doubted Arthur would ever tell his bond about the spell that her father used to control her until there was no other choice.

Sylvie tensed like a snake ready to bite, fear rising in her emotions that slowly overrode everything else. “Rinia destroyed it, after my father… used me for that megalomaniacal speech of his. But nobody else should know about that.”

“I don’t think you’d believe me even if I did tell you the source of my knowledge,” I sighed, taking in the dragon’s words. I paced lightly on the cell floor, my mind awhirl as my hand clenched around the pendant. If Rinia had truly erased the spell that Agrona used to puppeteer his daughter, that meant that this war truly wouldn’t end in any way I could predict. “The future has changed so much,” I said, only barely aware of what I was saying.

“The future?” Sylvie asked, blinking multiple times in confusion.

Then I froze, another part of the young dragon’s words reaching me. Megalomaniacal? She’d said that Agrona’s speech was megalomaniacal. In that otherworld novel, Agrona had put on a personable and affable air with Arthur, speaking with him as if they were old friends in an attempt to establish rapport. That was all with the intent to tempt him away to join his side.

“Sylvie,” I said with sudden urgency, Rinia’s warning about Agrona focusing on me ringing in my head like alarm bells. This felt important. “What did Agrona say to Arthur?”

The young dragon opened her mouth. I didn’t know if she was going to be honest with me, or ask more questions.

But then some deep, inset instinct in the depths of my phoenix Will blared in my senses. Or perhaps it was the sudden thunderous heartbeat, or the scything power I felt carving through Sonar Pulse.

An attack was coming, and it wasn’t aimed at me.

Fire and telekinetic force erupted from the soles of my shoes, the ambient mana pulling me forward in turn. Sylvie stumbled backward in surprise as I surged toward her like a bullet.

Just in time.

A flash of red slammed into my stomach, a winged spearhead piercing my innards and erupting out the other side. My blood sprayed across the young dragon behind me as the asuran weapon dove deep into my bowels, carving its way with abandon and compressing my mana channels and veins. The agony made me wheeze, a sick groan burbling with the blood in my mouth as I fell to a knee.

Sylvie stumbled backward with a horrified gasp, a look of shock washing over her face as my steaming blood coated her dark dress scales. The lantern light finally flickered out, casting us in utter darkness.

But I knew. I knew who stood on the other end of that cell hallway. My eyes pierced the gloom even as my sense for my mana slowly fizzled away under the effects of the spear, leaving me weak and helpless as blood pooled around me.

Taci Thyestes’ mana signature raged and boiled around him like a volcano about to blow. His crimson martial robes flared, and his bald head was cast in a rictus scowl. His black martial tattoos couldn’t hide the veins that pulsed across his head in time with his furious heartbeat.

“Spellsong,” he growled, the entire castle trembling from his anger, “I’m going to kill you.”