Arthur Leywin

I pivoted on my foot, bringing my sword up in a precise cut. The attack sheared through the golem’s ribcage, spewing red liquid that mimicked blood. Turning, I dodged an axe blow from a rampaging ‘general,’ clothed in the same red and gray ensemble as the rest of its conjured army, only differentiated by the little crown on its head. Seeing an opening, I channeled a bolt of lightning in my offhand, letting it fly toward the general.

The general took the electric spell in the chest, convulsing as if it were made of flesh and not an incomprehensible construct of earth mana. Not willing to let the advantage go, I darted in, using the barest application of wind mana at my feet to aid me along. A thin coating of fire erupted over my practice blade, adding a searing edge to the weapon. When I decapitated the general, no red liquid flew.

Over the course of the last five months of training in Epheotus, Wren had forced me into dozens of different battlefield scenarios. I’d worked alongside ‘commando operations,’ trying to achieve certain objectives to maintain ground. I’d been a military tactician, holding and reinvigorating the morale of make-believe troops. Sometimes, I simply needed to cut down as many enemy golems as possible.

But the constant in this wartime training was the need to always be aware of everything around me.

I stomped my foot as the stone golem fell, sending earth mana into the ground. A few yards away, a small bump of rock protruded at my command just as one of the enemy golems was making to finish off those from my team.

The enemy golem stumbled over the sudden obstacle, losing its chance to kill my ally.

That cost it its ‘life.’ My ally golem, garbed in clothing that had the symbols of Elenoir, Sapin, and Darv in a triangular formation on the breast, managed to run its opponent through with a dagger to the armpit. Red liquid spewed from the wound before the enemy golem went down.

I absorbed all of this in barely a second. My eccentric asuran trainer was prickly and openly condescending toward humankind, but there was a true method to his madness. I was forced to fight for days on end, learning to conserve my mana and maximize my spell usage. Mana rotation could only take me so far when a battle of thousands raged.

I dove back into the battle, ignoring the mental fatigue that had accumulated over the past few hours. Constantly keeping track of an entire battlefield, trying to keep casualties at a minimum, and reinforcing weakening fronts was an exhausting task. But this had become routine to me.

Especially after the training ramped up.

My blade carved through the enemy forces like a scythe through wheat. Some of them ran from me, the earthen summons seemingly cowed by my presence. I let those turn tail: rarely did my own ally summons leave those be.

But I was caught off guard when, all of a sudden, every single golem halted as if caught in a bubble of frozen time. The deep crater Wren Kain called a training ground suddenly became a field of macabre statues, an entire battlefield petrified back to the stone they were at heart.

I hesitantly lowered my sword, a furrow creasing my brow. I absently thought this would have been the kind of art display the politicians of my life as King Grey would have adored. Severed limbs were suspended in midair, a static stream of red liquid mimicking blood. Looks of terror and rage were sketched across every sedimentary face, bloodlust and bloodletting sinking into every golem. The stench of iron and copper suffused the entire battlefield, attacking my nostrils and trying to burrow into my head.

A perfect depiction of the horrors of war. The Council of Etharia would adore such a brilliant still image. They would show this to the masses as an example of their dogma. After all, war caused casualties.

And human life was always in short supply.

But my mind was quickly drawn out of my vague distraction as I considered what might be happening. Wren was a stickler for timeliness, always exact in when his demonstrations started and ended. The only other time something similar happened was sometime a few months ago when each and every golem had simply dispersed out of nowhere.

I had only heard from the asura the day after. He had berated me for stopping my training, but something in his eyes had gone blank.

“Wren?” I called out, my worry showing in my tone. “I think something might’ve gone wrong with–”

The asura burst from the ground beside me, causing me to curse. “Give a guy a warning next time,” I said. “I was expecting to fight for a while longer,” I added.

“That can wait for a second, brat,” Wren said, banishing my questions. He held something in his hands. “Something happened. I need you to test something for me. Right now.” The titan thrust his fist forward, revealing a familiar long, black rod clenched between white fingers.

I was startled by the asura’s urgency. When had he ever been so pushy?

I hesitantly took Dawn’s Ballad back from its creator. “What’s this for?” I asked. “I thought you were only going to give me back my weapon when our training was done.”

“Must you lessers ask so many questions?” the asura snapped. “Surely your human societies recognize the foolishness of asking pointless things. Your lives are already so short. I can’t believe you’d so readily waste time–”

I frowned, disconcerted by the scathing nature of Wren’s comments. “Now, hold on–”

“Fine, fine!” Wren continued bitingly, wringing his hands. There was a wideness to his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “I want to check something with that stick of yours. But I can’t. I can draw it, but it's bonded to you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Alright.” The grumpy asura might have been a pain in the ass, but he’d reliably helped me for months on end. Drawing my own sword was the least I could do.

I laid my hand on the familiar handle, closing my eyes. I looked deep at my core, feeling the power I kept locked deep in my well of mana. Drawing Sylvia’s Will to the surface, I slowly unsheathed Dawn’s Ballad.

I expected to withdraw the familiar, translucent teal blade that had been my companion for over half a decade. The thin double-edged weapon had reaped the lives of dozens of mana beasts in my hands, and the blade was as familiar to me as my own core.

Instead, the blade I held in my hands sported a strange, orangish purple tinge running up the central ridge. The colors flickered and flowed like blood as they intermingled with teal, turning the normally translucent blade solid. I stared, wide-eyed, then looked back to Wren.

“Wren? What’s happening to Dawn’s Ballad?” I asked. It didn’t feel any different from what I could tell. But who knew what this might herald?

The titan didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes were transfixed on the striations of orange-purple running along my sword. “So you do still live, don’t you, ya old bird?” Wren whispered, staring at my weapon with visible awe.

Seris Vritra

I kept my presence suppressed for the time being, watching from above the Denoir Relictombs estate. It was a lavish building, filled with everything a highlord of the Central Dominion required to flaunt their power. Glittering fountains, ornate sculptures, complicated architecture, and priceless defensive wards came together to form a level of opulence that could satisfy even a Scythe.

But the man I watched did not care for any of these shows. His eyes were reserved for one person: my protege down below, lounging near a fountain in one of the secluded gardens as she tried to put together a puzzle. She had been attempting to solve it for several hours, her deep navy hair blanketing her face.

To her credit, it was one of the more challenging puzzles I could find: a little box that had interlocking wooden blocks. There was a way to unravel the structure by moving and sliding them about before the entire thing would come apart like an especially irritating knot. Some of the pieces had divots and pits, allowing you to slide other pieces past them. It was a mind-bending little object.

Caera was so immersed in her task that the young woman failed to notice the man quietly sneaking toward her. He muffled his presence, simultaneously using one of his runes to reduce his weight. Caera cursed, causing the man to pause midstep, fearing he’d been discovered.

My young protege had merely misaligned one of the little pieces, resetting her progress from the past ten minutes. After realizing that he hadn’t been discovered, the mage continued to prowl toward my unsuspecting student.

Soon enough, he was close enough to reach for her throat.

“What’re you working on?” he asked in a low voice, causing Caera to shriek and whirl around, her wild punch barely missing his nose.

Caera looked startled at first, but her face immediately shifted to joy as she saw who had snuck up on her. “Sevren!” she cried, wrapping him in a hug. “I thought you’d be in the Relictombs for a week more! What brought you back so soon?”

I felt the edges of my lips twist slightly up at the happiness my student displayed. The joy she showed was reserved only for her foster brother. I hoped one day she would feel safe enough to let the world see it as well.

Sevren Denoir had wider features than his adopted sister. His untamed hair was a brilliant white, one of the traits he inherited from his mother. Today he was sporting a thin goatee and mustache, which complemented the wide smile on his face. The teal cloak he wore matched the olive tunic underneath.

“I was going on a normal ascent, true,” the young man replied, separating from his sister. He covertly glanced about the garden, searching for prying eyes.

He did not notice my presence above.

“I usually stay past the convergence zones, but something changed this time.” There was a subtle shift in his face as he said the words. “I found something. I had to return a bit early because of that.”

Caera’s scarlet eyes took on a conspiratorial sheen as she quickly caught on to her brother’s hesitance. “You discovered something about aether,” she whispered. “Found some sort of insight in the Relictombs.”

He hadn’t exactly, but the Sovereigns would flay him alive if they figured out what he’d done. I had worked quite hard to keep his actions under wraps over the past week or so. He wasn’t nearly as covert as he thought. I wondered if the Denoir heir knew the punishment that would await him if he was discovered. He probably did, or at least had a guess. The young man was rash, but he wasn’t stupid.

Sevren’s eyes sharpened. His pupils were as green as his cloak, something that drew the attention of many who met him. “No, I didn’t. But I might eventually. I… I did something. But we can’t talk about it here.”

Caera frowned, detecting something in his undertone. “Brother…” she started.

I chose to reveal myself then, slowly letting the ambient mana set me down.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Sevren reacted immediately, shifting so he was between his sister and me. His teal eyes stared at me with a mix of fear and determination. I wondered what was going on in his head. He probably wondered how much of his conversation I had heard. After a brief moment where the man visibly considered his choices, he bowed at the waist. “Scythe Seris,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the grass.

Such blatant hostility.

“Lord Denoir,” I said in greeting, my feet touching the ground without a sound. My black battledress settled around me. “You may rise,” I said.

Sevren kept his eyes trained away from me, though he straightened slightly as I gave him permission to do so. Perhaps he thought that if he avoided my gaze, I would not see the hatred within.

“I surmise you have just returned from an ascent, Lord Denoir? Perhaps you can tell me about your experiences later today,” I said, watching him.

“I’m sure any stories a simple ascender like myself could tell have been heard a thousand times over by you,” he tried. “I am not so sure you would find my stories interesting.”

I tilted my head, letting a hint of amusement show on my face. “On the contrary, Lord Denoir. Every new tale from the Relictombs is a boon to the Sovereigns, no matter what either of us may think of them.”

It was a simple bit of manipulation, really. I had to direct that anger of his.

“I am afraid I have plans to journey back into the Relictombs shortly,” the man lied. “I only have a couple of hours free, which I was hoping to spend with my sister.”

And not with you, he implied. Other Scythes had killed men for lesser slights.

I let out a sigh, feigning disappointment. “Very well. Next time you leave a descension chamber, make sure to contact me. You are Highblood Denoir’s rising star, after all. It would be a shame if nobody heard your voice and how you bring glory to your Blood.”

I saw a muscle clench in Sevren’s jaw. “I will make sure to do so,” he said, the second lie of this conversation.

“But I need to speak with my student for the moment,” I said, letting my mask of impassivity return. “You are dismissed for now, Lord Denoir. You will have your sister back in a short while.”

Sevren spared a glance through white bangs at his adoptive sister, clearly nervous, before stalking out of the garden. Caera watched him go reluctantly, before turning back to me with a visible pout.

“You don’t have to keep pushing him,” she said with a bit of sadness. “He just wants what’s best for me.”

He is one of the only people on this continent who wants what is best for you, dear Caera, I thought. But I do need to keep pushing him.

I had to keep the heir to the Denoirs guarded around me. That hatred he held for the Vritra clan needed to be fostered and harnessed for the future, and he perceived my tutoring of his sister as a blatant attempt to draft her into the High Sovereign’s games.

If I were any other Scythe, he would have been correct. But I represented the things he hated about the High Sovereign’s rule. I only needed to keep making them obvious to him. And there were many ways to do it.

Like interrupting a private conversation with his sister, and then forcing him to retreat as my relationship took social precedence over his. I leveraged my power over him, and in turn, pushed him to despise Agrona’s power structure even more. His dislike for me was not personal, but circumstantial.

Though perhaps there was a bit of animosity he held. I could work through that eventually.

“I’m afraid what we want is not always what we get, Caera.” I looked at her pointedly. “Have you progressed at all in that puzzle I gave you?”

I knew the answer, but it was essential to ask nonetheless.

The young woman deflated, holding the little cubish puzzle aloft. “No, Scythe Seris. I can’t seem to figure out the fourth piece. It refuses to budge, no matter how I try.”

I let the edges of my lips turn up slightly as took the puzzle from her offered hand. I poked and prodded at the pieces, quickly removing part after part. Caera watched with her mouth agape as I disassembled the toy. Then I pieced it back together, letting the small wooden object rest in my palm.

“The key is in how far you move each piece,” I said, holding the little toy between two fingers. “Push too far, and your advance is blocked by other pieces. Move them too little, and you’ll make no progress at all. But keep your movement right at an equilibrium,” I slightly shifted one of the tiny logs. Many of them had tiny indents, allowing you to shift another piece past like a dagger sliding between ribs. I successfully withdrew one of the pieces from the jumble. “And you can accomplish your goal. This requires no mana at all, only the right state of mind.”

Caera had a thoughtful frown on her face as she took the toy back, fiddling with the pieces once more. I watched with glittering eyes as my protege carefully applied my little lesson. She fumbled here and there, but Caera was nothing if not determined. After a little over a minute, she managed to remove the fourth piece.

Just a little nudge and the woman figures it out on her own. That was something of a trend with my pupil.

“Well done, Caera,” I said with a slight smile.

She looked up at me with a grin of her own. I had a feeling that the puzzle wouldn’t remain a challenge for much longer.

“I’m afraid I didn’t visit you today just to steal you away from your brother and give you the secrets to a puzzle,” I said.

She perked up, frowning slightly. “What do you mean, Scythe Seris?”

“I’m going to be returning to my estate in Aedelgard for a while,” I said. “I’ll return when I can, however.”

Caera’s face fell. “Will we be able to train when you get back?” she asked. The young Lady Denoir had shown remarkable talent in using soulfire, but it needed a guiding hand and refinement. The woman was smart enough to know this.

“I promise you we will have the time to train your mana arts with more focus when I return,” I said, rising into the air slightly. “Do finish that puzzle before I get back. I would hate to have to do it again.”

A spark of competitiveness flashed in Caera’s scarlet eyes, making my lips turn up slightly. Yes, I suspected she’d be done with that little toy by the end of the day.

I watched Sevren Denoir rush back to his sister. They quickly descended into conversation.

He wouldn’t tell her of what he’d done in the Relictombs, no matter how much he hinted at it. It was for the same reason I kept my plans hidden from Caera, regardless of how much I trusted her now.

I turned and flew towards the portal to the first layer of the Relictombs. I kept my presence close, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Once I reached the first layer, I navigated to the descension portals. The guards on staff hastily shuffled to key the portal to Aedelgard at my direction. They couldn’t afford the slightest slip-up in the presence of a Scythe.

Stepping through the shimmering purple plane, I was greeted by the salty scent of seawater and the kiss of mist on my skin. I floated into the air, observing the Vritra’s Maw sea from the sky. The water was vast and endless, and I couldn’t see the other side, no matter how much I enhanced my vision with mana.

Sometimes, I imagined that this sea was endless, with no opposite shore. There would be an infinite expanse of islands and continents across it, all untouched by man and asura alike. Pure, untamed nature.

It was a wonderful sight. Though the landscape did not have the glittering fountains, ornate sculptures, and complicated architecture of the Denoirs’ Relictombs estate, it was no less beautiful to me.

Before I could bank toward my home, however, I sensed a presence approaching rapidly from the direction of my own estate. Cylrit stood ramrod straight as he drifted toward me, his expression pinched.

If he flew to meet me, it must be something important, I reasoned. The man was a stickler for protocol, evidenced by how he bowed to me in the air.

“Scythe Seris,” he said. “It is good to see you back.”

“At ease, Cylrit,” I said, raising a brow. His back straightened. “You must have news if you deigned to meet me just as I left the portal.”

“Indeed,” my retainer replied. “A week or so ago, our scanners picked up an asuran presence in Fiachra,” he said without preamble. “You were not present for me to give the information to, so as per your orders, I suppressed any knowledge about it from leaving the city.”

I nodded but didn’t display any of the thoughts on my face. We began to drift back toward my estate, Cylrit slightly behind me. “Have you located the source of the presence? I assume it is another sign of latent manifestation.”

I was personally involved in the creation of the asura-detecting artifacts placed all throughout the continent of Alacrya. While I couldn’t affect the ones in place, I had a personal design that was more advanced than most were led to believe. It allowed me to shift pieces on the great board before they were even players.

One of the things my sensors were programmed to detect was signs of Vritra heritage manifesting. They occurred intermittently in young mages as they trained. The power in their blood would surge now and then, sending out a detectable signal.

“Pardon me, Scythe Seris, this one is… strange. The signal could not have been a true asura–otherwise, I am certain the Sovereigns would have intervened personally–but it seems to be something entirely different from what we usually see in basilisk blood manifesting.”

I hummed aloud, considering his words. “Let us see what this development brings, shall we?”

Lady Dawn

I lingered on the edge of human perception, feeling the emotion that roiled through my Contractor as he played each successive chord. It was a solemn song he played, but there was an undercurrent of racing hope within it.

I had a sense that there were words that were meant to be sung along with the music, but my Contractor was too immersed in his art to open his mouth.

The sound weaved through the room, his arm moving in precise movements as the bow slid across the strings. I wondered absently how the men of this world could create something so amazing; so unique. If music was not divine, then I did not know what could be.

His emotions thundered across our link. His fear, tied so deeply to his purpose in this world, was prominent in every note he played. But now there was hope. A possibility of a better tomorrow. His confidence had been boosted by his triumph over his enemies. And though he lay battered in a hospital room, forced to remain by the aches and pains of his body, he was freer than he had ever been in this world.

I would need to teach him to mask his emotions. I had the distinct sense he was purposefully broadcasting them now: not so much to me directly, but just to express himself. And so I listened, trying to understand this Contractor of mine.

His knowledge of this world unnerved me, true. There were things no man should know; secrets too personal and close. And yet this man–this boy–knew the answers to questions asura had been asking for centuries. Integration. Agrona and Kezess’s true natures, like two sides of the same coin. And the name of my son, nearly lost to me.

He adapted to his new life remarkably quickly. That was certainly in part due to his merge with the body’s previous soul, given willingly, but it was also from a drive I didn’t understand. What pushed him on? What made him care?

I wanted to know. I understood his need for vengeance. I knew that as deeply as I knew myself. But the man I’d chosen as Contractor was not consumed by his rage. It was a piece of him, but far from the whole.

My life of misting shadow and perpetual twilight was a lonely one. The world continued on, unaware of my existence. I watched and contemplated, only visible to one. I wondered if this was the fate of all lost souls, to wander the earth, unable to be seen or heard.

My body was dead, after all. For all intents and purposes, I was a spirit.

As my Contractor’s playing picked up, the notes of music pulled old memories to the surface.

The tempo rose, the rich tones evoking contrasting emotions. His rhythm spoke of triumph, but just behind was the potential of failure. When the coin flipped, where would the next chord land? A soaring, thrilling success? Or the low, mellow draw of despair?

I caught myself as I thought. When had I last felt these emotions? Let them flow? How long had I kept them contained, fearful that any hint of feeling would be ripped away by my captor?

I remembered holding a newborn Chul in my arms. Andravhor stood to the side, his runemarked purple skin a contrast to my own pale tone. And our son, the first djinn to be born in a century, wailed into the sky as if he could bring it down. His eyes were mismatched: one orange, another blue. Proof of his heritage.

But there was no longer a black void that took the place of every memory of my son. The wounds in my mind healed as my Contractor advanced in power. He did not know it, but he gave a dead woman her life back.

It had been so long since I let myself feel. I wondered absently when I had walled myself off. Was it when Agrona began to pick at my mind? Before then?

But I felt sorrow as my Contractor’s instrument coasted through lower notes, producing melancholy rhythms. The coin had landed on tails and the tune dove down low in turn. I knew, deep down, that I had stopped myself from feeling long before Agrona kept me in his dungeons. I knew precisely when I’d severed my emotions. But with the ever-present connection to someone who felt so wholly, I could not suppress my own feelings any longer.

But again, the melody changed, rising up again. Failure was not the end, merely the prelude to victory. Each small block of despair built a magnificent temple to success. As my Contractor slowly finished his song, drawing out one long, vibrating note, I felt each emotion as he let them loose. I stared into his eyes, though he could not see me do so.

“Most call me Lady Dawn,” I said to the boy over our Bond. “But those I hold close know me as Aurora Asclepius.”